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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779431">Not Getting Any Younger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiousair/pseuds/curiousair'>curiousair</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety Attacks, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Discussion of Suicide Attempts, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Sexual Assault, Past Suicide Attempt, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Romantic Comedy, Sex Talk, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:55:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiousair/pseuds/curiousair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Now, Richie has done much worse things than sit on his dark balcony and watch a naked stranger swim in the privacy of his own backyard. But, this is definitely up there on the list. Apparently, all it takes is a vaguely attractive man with dark hair and a cute butt to get Richie hard. The bar has never been lower.</i><br/><br/>Or, the one where they're neighbors, Richie Tozier is a fucking mess, and Eddie Kaspbrak is starting over.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>417</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Getting Any Younger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>listen, I've been writing fan fiction for most of my damn life, and since 2011 the only fanfic I've written has been one direction related. this is my first time writing something different and boy, that is scary!</p><p>my best friend pulled me into this fandom and I literally started writing this before I even saw the movie. (by the way, I hated the movie). she also read this and helped me edit it, like she has with literally every thing I've ever written since 2011/2012.</p><p>DISCLAIMER: this story has some pretty triggering content BUT all the bad shit that happens to them occurs before the story starts. :) </p><p>(Note: please see trigger warnings in tags; there are discussions of suicide attempts in this story.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Last year, Richie was one suicide attempt away from a free, all-expenses paid stay at the psych ward. </p><p>This year, he’s one bad hookup away from locking himself back in the closet. </p><p>Despite this, he has been feeling marginally better these past few weeks. It may or may not have to do with the fact that his new neighbor takes a swim almost every night, completely naked.</p><p>Now, Richie has done much worse things than sit on his dark balcony and watch a naked stranger swim in the privacy of his own backyard. But, this is definitely up there on the list. Apparently, all it takes is a vaguely attractive man with dark hair and a cute butt to get Richie hard. The bar has never been lower.</p><p>From his spot, on the second floor, at least thirty feet away with only the soft, blue lighting of the pool and the moon overhead, Richie can’t even tell if the guy is actually hot or if it’s just the fucking weird voyeuristic nature of it all that’s so exciting to him. Still, it doesn’t matter. At this point, Richie will take any form of serotonin he can get, even if it makes him feel awful and disgusting if he lets himself think too long about it. </p><p>So, he doesn’t think. He just sits in the dark like the freak he is and watches his neighbor drop his pants and dive into the pool. </p><p>Things get really fucking weird the next morning when Richie, who never gets unannounced visitors, hears the doorbell ring. </p><p>“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t fucking want it!” he shouts, approaching the window near the front door. He pries the blinds apart about half an inch and peeks out, expecting to see a duo of Mormons, a gaggle of christian church ladies, or a dumb kid selling chocolate door to door.</p><p>It really says something about Richie that it takes him a full 60 seconds to recognize that the person standing on the porch is his neighbor. For one, he’s fully clothed.</p><p>Richie has a stupid joke locked and loaded, but the second he swings the door open and gets a good look at the man, he forgets every fucking word in the English language except for <em> ‘hot’ </em> and ‘<em>fuck me.’ </em></p><p>The man is short, wearing a simple ensemble of jeans and a hoodie. Dark brown eyes, stubble on his cheeks, great hair, and the worst case of resting bitch face Richie has ever seen. </p><p>“Hi,” the man says, his voice softer than Richie expected. “I just moved in next door. I thought I had my kitchen all stocked, but I realized I don’t have any sugar. So, I was wondering if you could lend me some?”</p><p>And immediately Richie thinks, <em>oh I’ll lend you some sugar alright. </em>It’s a miracle that it doesn’t tumble out of his mouth like everything else does.</p><p>Instead, he nods and just says, “Of course.” Because the more he talks, the more he fucks things up. He takes the cup to his kitchen and dumps the remainder of his sugar into it. When Beverly comes over, she’ll definitely complain about him not having sugar for her coffee. But, this is for the greater good. The greater good meaning it’s likely to help him on his endless quest to get his dick sucked.</p><p>“So, are you baking something?” Richie asks, handing over the cup.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The sugar,” Richie says. “What’s it for?”</p><p>“Oh right, the sugar. I’m making pancakes.” The man smiles, showing the deepest dimples in human fucking kind. </p><p>And it’s like every single alarm bell in Richie’s body starts going off at once. “Cool. Very cool. I love pancakes.”</p><p>The man seems to suppress a laugh, which Richie's refuses to accept. If he doesn’t make this man laugh in the next five seconds, he’ll explode.</p><p>“Anyway, thanks again. Have a good one.” </p><p>The man turns and starts walking down the steps. Richie has the door half closed when the man circles back and says, “Actually, one more thing.”</p><p>Richie stops, opening up the door again. “Yeah?”</p><p>"Have you been watching me swim naked from your balcony?" </p><p>Without a millisecond of hesitation, Richie answers, “Absolutely not.”</p><p>There’s no fucking way he isn’t going to take this secret to the grave with him. </p><p>“You look familiar,” the man says, after what feels like a whole goddamn hour. “Where do I know you from?”</p><p>“Do you own a TV?” Richie asks. </p><p>The man raises an eyebrow. “Are you on TV?” </p><p>“Not yet,” Richie answers.</p><p>The man sighs, already exasperated. To be honest, Richie can’t even blame him. “Then why would that question even matter?” </p><p>Richie shrugs. “I don’t know, just thought I’d ask.”</p><p>Another silence passes and it’s literally torture having to look at this man’s beautiful, sad brown eyes and not spit out all the random shit that pops into his brain.</p><p>“I feel like we’ve met,” the man says.</p><p>“Usually people know for sure if they’ve met me before. I tend to stand out. For a multitude of reasons.” </p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“I'm Richie.” Richie holds out a hand, a bit too eager but fuck it. It isn’t the first embarrassing thing he’s done and it won’t be the last. </p><p>They shake hands, the man’s firm grip against Richie’s clammy one. </p><p>"I'm Eddie." </p><p><em>Eddie</em>. Naturally, Richie blurts out: "I like how our names match. We could be a crime fighting duo. Or, like, a traveling folk band if that’s more your thing.”</p><p>And Eddie laughs, something stifled and choked like he’s trying his hardest not to. Still, Richie counts it as a win.</p><p>-</p><p>This has to be a prank. It has to be. Richie is never this lucky.</p><p>By some serendipitous act of nature, Richie woke up before noon, walked out onto his balcony to greet the day, and looked down to see Eddie lounging in a pool chair with his hand down the front of his shorts. </p><p>If this is a set-up, it isn’t a fair one. Is Richie <em>not supposed to look? </em> What is the end goal here? For Richie to look like a fucking creep? Because he already feels like one, thanks very much. Richie hadn’t stopped watching Eddie swim naked, despite being called on it. This must be his punishment.</p><p>Gears start turning in the less rational, much hornier part of his brain and he thinks, <em> wait...this could be an invitation</em>.</p><p>Eddie is hot. Like, ‘Backdoor Muscle Twink Part 3’ hot. It just would not make sense for him to come on to Richie (who is ‘average dad-bod gets fucked for the first time’ hot on a good day). </p><p>Yet when Richie steps closer to the railing, Eddie pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, looks up at Richie and smiles. </p><p>-</p><p>It takes two whole days for Richie to figure out a plan. </p><p>And, it isn’t a good one. But he decides, as he paces around his bedroom, it’s the best plan he has. If he doesn’t do <em> something</em> soon, then he’ll do nothing and all his fantasies about fucking Eddie in his pool are nothing but fantastic wank bank material.</p><p>Before he talks himself out of it, Richie writes his phone number and his name on a sheet of printer paper, folds it into a paper airplane, walks out onto his balcony and tosses it over the fence.</p><p>And within seconds, regret starts eating at his gut like a giant shit fighting its way out through his large intestine. </p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>He stares down at the paper airplane perched perfectly on top of one of Eddie’s lounge chairs. According to Richie’s internal clock (which might as well be called a ‘boner clock’ at this point), Eddie should be walking out into the backyard and getting naked within minutes. </p><p>Richie makes a run for it, bolting down the stairs and across his backyard before stopping at the fence. </p><p>The fucking fence. It’s barely taller than him so theoretically, it shouldn’t be an issue to get over. But the thing is Richie isn’t the most graceful, nor is he the most athletic person around. This leads him to the genius idea of bringing over a wicker patio chair to stand on. </p><p>It works for about four seconds. His weight sends both feet straight through the flimsy seat of the chair but unfortunately, he’s already grasping onto the fence and dragging himself over. </p><p>He lands, <em> gracefully</em>, in Eddie’s rose bushes and stumbles to his feet with a groan. “Motherfucker, I made it.”</p><p>There’s no way to run quietly or discreetly, especially when you’re 6’1 with the body type of a Sasquatch-like creature. He tip-toes as quickly as he can to the lounge chairs, snatches up the note, and starts his retreat. </p><p>Except, he doesn’t. Because he hears growling somewhere in the backyard.</p><p>Richie whips his head around and honest to god, a pit bull comes out of the shadow of the bushes and starts barking. </p><p>First of all, <em>when the fuck did Eddie get a dog? </em></p><p>Richie freezes. Nice one, fight or flight response. “Good dog. Please don’t kill me.”</p><p>The dog keeps barking, starting to go in for the kill. At the same time, a light in the house comes on and if Richie wasn’t panicked before, he’s really shitting himself now. </p><p>He steps back once, then again, and the ground isn’t there anymore. Because he’s falling into the pool.</p><p>In the chaos of trying to remember how to swim, trying not to make too much noise, and praying to every god that this scary ass dog doesn’t jump in after him, Richie loses his glasses.</p><p>Well, fuck. He climbs out of the pool, basically blind, and flops his soaking wet body onto the concrete. After letting himself rest for .5 seconds, he remembers he’s in Eddie’s backyard and his dog is about to tear him a new asshole.</p><p>“Fuck my life. Fuck my life,” he mutters, making a mad dash for the fence. He miraculously vaults over, scraping the shit out of his stomach in the process, and busting his ass on the way down. At least the flimsy wicker chair sort of breaks his fall. </p><p>Once inside the safety of his house, he kicks off his wet shoes and starts stripping off his clothes. He’s down to his t-shirt and boxers when he hears the doorbell ring.</p><p>“<em>Fuck.</em>”</p><p>Maybe if he stays really quiet, Eddie will go away. Maybe Richie will sneak upstairs, pretend to be asleep, and then call the police about a possible home invasion when Eddie ‘wakes him up.’ <em> (“Yes, sir. I saw him climb over my fence and into my neighbor’s yard. I’m heartbroken about my wicker chair and my neighbor’s rose bushes.”) </em></p><p>The doorbell persists and then, Eddie’s voice, loud and clear through the door:</p><p>"I have your glasses, man." </p><p>"<em>Shit</em>." </p><p>Richie answers the door looking like a pathetic wet dog.</p><p>"Why were you just in my backyard?" </p><p>Richie frowns. “<em>What</em>? Me, in your backyard? No, I wasn’t.”</p><p>The blurry outline of Eddie motions to him. "You're soaking wet. And again, I have your fucking glasses." </p><p>Richie blinks, putting on the most serious tone he can muster. “I’ve never seen those glasses before in my life.” </p><p>And Eddie retorts, quick as a whip, “Can you even see <em> me </em> right now?” </p><p>“Hey, fuck you dude.” Richie reaches out for his glasses and misses by a fucking mile.</p><p>Eddie laughs, and it isn’t fair that Richie can’t properly see it, then he steps forward and gingerly places Richie’s glasses back on his face.</p><p>It’s honestly the most tender thing anyone has ever done for him. </p><p>So, Richie kisses him. He takes him by the wrist, tugs him inside, and shuts the door behind them, all while keeping his mouth firmly planted to Eddie’s.</p><p>It’s borderline frantic, their teeth clashing and tongues desperately licking into each other’s mouths. Eddie grabs Richie’s ass hard enough that it will definitely bruise and presses them close, making sure Richie can feel the unmistakable bulge of his dick getting harder by the second.</p><p>“Holy shi-”</p><p>“Shh, shut up,” Eddie says into Richie’s open mouth. Then he literally grabs Richie’s hand and guides it under the waistband of his shorts. </p><p>Eddie moans the moment Richie gets a hand around him and bucks into Richie’s fist like his life depends on it. He digs his nails into Richie’s shoulders, bites down on his lower lip, and comes in about seven seconds.</p><p>Still panting and shaking, Eddie pulls back and says, “Thanks. Sorry about the mess though.” Then he pats Richie on the chest and leaves the way he came. </p><p>-</p><p>Richie is sitting at his dining room table, still trying to convince himself that last night was just a nightmare-sex dream hybrid, when the doorbell rings. He carries his bowl of cereal to the door, and if the shock factor hadn’t worn off about twelve hours ago when Eddie fucked himself into Richie’s hand, he would be more surprised that Eddie is standing on his porch.</p><p>"So, listen,” Eddie starts, in lieu of a greeting, “Why don't we hook up?" </p><p>Richie nearly chokes on a mouthful of marshmallows and sugar. “Excuse me?" </p><p>"I want to have sex with you,” Eddie says slowly, as if Richie doesn’t understand.</p><p>"Are you at the right house?” Richie takes another bite of cereal—he’s got to be quick, it’s getting soggy—and points his spoon at the street. “The swimsuit model lives two doors down." </p><p>"You're Richie. The man who watched me swim naked every day for two weeks, jumped over my fence, fell into my pool, and then made me come in five seconds with just your hand." </p><p>Eddie is blunt and composed, making eye contact in an almost unsettling way. Richie is uncomfortable with prolonged attention of any kind, so he’s highly disquieted by Eddie’s intense gaze. But, he’s also shamelessly turned on by it because he’s a perverted freak.</p><p>To all of that, Richie’s clever response is: "It was actually like 7 seconds." </p><p>Eddie starts to smile and immediately stops himself. "You're giving me too much credit.”</p><p>"No, you're giving <em> me </em> too much credit." </p><p>"Listen,” Eddie sighs, and yes, Richie is listening, “for some reason I'm undeniably and bizarrely drawn to you-,” </p><p>“Bizarrely? Thanks, love that,” Richie mumbles. </p><p>Eddie continues, wise to ignore Richie’s smartass comment. “I've spent too fucking long waiting around, lying to myself, and talking myself out of things I want and I don't want to do that anymore." </p><p>Richie takes another bite of his cereal, taking a mental note to use less milk next time. "Things like?" </p><p>"Men. You, in particular." </p><p>Richie lowers his bowl and squints at him. "Hey, wait a second... you're a closet case too, aren't you?" </p><p>Eddie’s face goes red and somehow, his resting bitch face allows for an even deeper scowl. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm—well, I’m newly out of the closet, yes. What, are you going to be fucking weird about it?" </p><p>Richie couldn’t be more tickled if he tried. "Aw shit, I <em> knew </em> it. I can see the gay panic in someone's eyes from a mile away.”</p><p>“I-,” Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but it takes a second. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re making a joke.”</p><p>“Oh, you’d know if I was making a joke,” Richie assures him. “Anyway, gay panic and I are very well acquainted. I’ve been looking at it in the mirror for like 20 years." </p><p>"That's actually...perfect.” Eddie lets out a sigh and nods. “Okay, let's do this then.”</p><p>“Alright, great, gimme just a sec,” Richie says, already using one hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans.</p><p>Eddie puts up a hand to stop him, a smile spreading across his face. "Whoa, hey, I didn't mean <em>now.</em> We can take it slow, it’s not a race.” </p><p>"I've never taken anything slow in my entire 35 years of life," Richie says. “I actually don’t think I’m capable.”</p><p>"You'll have to make an attempt,” Eddie says, chuckling now, like this situation wasn’t fucking absurd from the beginning. “Jesus Christ, were you really about to drop your pants with the front door wide open?" </p><p>Richie leaves his jeans undone, just to make a point. The point being he’s lazy… and maybe, <em> hopefully</em>, Eddie will change his mind about ‘taking it slow.’ </p><p>"That's sweet coming from the guy who used my hand to jack off before leaving me all alone to jack <em> myself </em> off. But not before washing <em> your </em> come off my hand." </p><p>It isn’t Richie’s goal to make Eddie feel <em> guilty</em>, but he does want to make it very clear that he jacked off last night to the thought of them and it would have been better if he weren’t alone.</p><p>"Right...okay, I'm usually one to think things through a lot, sometimes to the point of an actual panic attack. But, I'm trying this new thing where I don't overthink things. I guess last night I went a little overboard. Sorry." </p><p>It’s an earnest statement by all means, but Richie is a little shit so he sucks his teeth and says:</p><p>"Right, so you <em> didn't </em> mean to get off with the ugly dude next door? But you <em> did </em> mean come over the next day and invite him to get off with you again?" </p><p>Eddie rolls his eyes, fighting another smile. "You're not ugly." </p><p>Richie smiles too, and the part of his brain that is needy and desperate for praise wins out. "Tell me one thing you like about my appearance...and not my height." </p><p>"Your eyes." </p><p>Richie scoffs, because sure, he craves compliments but that doesn’t mean he <em> accepts </em> them. Yeah, he knows it’s fucked and every therapist he’s ever had agrees. "Bullshit, no one likes my eyes." </p><p>Eddie is either desperate or more resilient than most, because he doesn’t back down. "Listen man, are you going to fucking argue with me, or are you going to come to my house for dinner tomorrow?"</p><p>“I’m not the dinner date type,” Richie jokes.</p><p>“I can see that. You’re eating cereal out of a mixing bowl.”</p><p>“I am. Do you want a bite?” Richie holds out a spoonful of cereal, and is delightedly surprised when Eddie doesn’t hesitate to lean forward and take the spoon into his mouth.</p><p>He grimaces, and says, “I can’t believe I just did that.”</p><p>Richie grins. “Not the first time someone has said that to me, believe it or not.”</p><p>“No, I believe it,” Eddie says. Once he trains his expression to something less disgusted, he adds, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow at six, right?”</p><p>"Kiss me and I'll say yes."</p><p>Eddie groans, and rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a tiny smile on his face when he leans in to kiss Richie's cheek.</p><p>-</p><p>Four things are brought to Richie’s attention when he follows Eddie into his kitchen:</p><p>1) It turns out that Eddie’s dog is not a pit bull. She’s a lovely, mild-mannered boxer mix named Lady, who just happens to look terrifying at night.</p><p>2) Eddie has a full jar of sugar on the counter, next to the coffee maker. </p><p>3) Eddie is making an actual dinner for them. And the realization that this is like, a <em>date</em> hits Richie like a truck. Since when does dinner mean <em>actual</em> <em>dinner</em> and not ‘cheap take out, drugs, and blowjobs’? Does this mean he actually has to talk about himself? Fuck, he’s already sweating just thinking about it.</p><p>4) When Eddie rolls up his sleeves to open the oven, Richie notices long, neat scars along the length of both of his forearms. The sight brings up shit Richie actively forces himself not to think about. He shakes the thoughts away, shoves down the queasy feeling, and pretends he didn't see the scars at all.</p><p>"It still needs a little time," Eddie says, closing the oven. "How about some drinks?"</p><p>"Please." Richie takes a seat at the impeccably clean bar, watching Eddie pop the caps off two beers. "How do you know I'm not the wine type?"</p><p>Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you?"</p><p>Richie motions to himself, at his <em> sexiest </em>Hawaiian printed shirt and dirty jeans. "Don't I look like I spend summers in Napa Valley?"</p><p>Eddie takes a drink, levels a look at him, and says, "You look like you spend your summers at casinos in Laughlin." </p><p>"Touche." Richie takes a drink too, if only to do something with his hands. And, like, also to get fucked up quicker, but that's lower on his list of priorities tonight. "It would have hurt more If I hadn't made that same joke about myself at least 50 times when I was doing a 'comedy tour' in Nevada."</p><p>Eddie chuckles and walks around to take a seat next to Richie. He's fucking unfairly handsome up close. Stupid dimples. Dumbass perfect hair. Deep, dark eyes that make Richie's tits sweat.</p><p>"You're a comedian. Everything makes sense now."</p><p>"Failed comedian," Richie corrects. And if his palms start to sweat a little more than usual, it's completely unrelated. He barrels on, burying his shame with more shitty jokes. "And what do failed comedians do? They become podcast hosts and actors." </p><p>"So, why have I never heard of you?" Eddie asks.</p><p>"Because you have bad taste, obviously."</p><p>"Well, what have you been in? You said you haven't been on TV." </p><p>"Ah, because I haven't. You know that movie on the Sy-Fy Channel about the sentient rocking chairs that kill people?" </p><p>The bewildered look on Eddie's face is truly a prize.</p><p>"I...can't say I do." </p><p>"Well, I'll have you know that I was in <em> both </em> direct to DVD sequels." </p><p>Eddie laughs, but at least looks apologetic about it. "Oh my god."</p><p>"Yeah laugh it up, but those movies paid for my house. Every time I'm at Walmart and I see one in the five dollar bin I get all teary-eyed." Richie lifts his glasses and pretends to wipe a tear. "They just meant that much to me."</p><p>"Tell me all about it." Eddie props his elbows on the table and his chin against his knuckles. "I'm <em> fascinated</em>."</p><p>And yeah, that stings a little.</p><p>"Now you're just being a dick." </p><p>"Yeah, kind of." Eddie smirks and takes another drink from his beer. "But, really I'm curious. I've never talked to an actor before. What's it like?" </p><p>"Being a C-list actor?" Richie thinks for a moment. How can he make this funny and not at all depressing? "It's like… well, it's like working at Disneyland, except Disneyland also has free drugs and strippers. Only you're not allowed to do any of them because you're just the fucking guy who takes the tickets." </p><p>The smile on Eddie's face falters. "Oh." </p><p>Sweat starts to bead on Richie's forehead and he pretty much wants to die. But, suicide isn't an appropriate response to embarrassment, so he chugs the rest of his beer in one go, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and forces a laugh. "Whew, shit, that got <em> dark</em>. Let me just repress that real quick. Hmm, okay, done. What about you? Where do you work? How can you afford this overpriced house in the valley?" </p><p>"I'm a Risk Analyst, and have been for years," Eddie says, chewing his lip. "Not much more to add.”</p><p>“I want to crack a joke about it, but I don’t know what it is,” Richie admits. “Is it as boring as it sounds? Something tells me to call you a nerd, but it could be a really cool job. Is it?”</p><p>“You know what?” Eddie places his hand over Richie’s, rubbing a soft thumb over his knuckles. He shifts closer in his seat, lowering his voice. “I like getting to know you, but I don’t want to force small talk about boring shit like my job, or anything like that.”</p><p>A literal trail of sweat drips down Richie's armpit and finds its way to his belly button. </p><p>“Do you have a bathroom in this place?”</p><p>Eddie blinks at him. “Do I have a bathroom? In my house?”</p><p>“Yep! A bathroom. Do you have one?” Richie snatches his hand away and slides off the chair, suddenly hyper-aware that he’s sweating profusely.</p><p>“It’s-... down the hall to the left,” Eddie says. “Are you okay?” </p><p>He sounds concerned, which is <em> lovely </em> of him, but Richie is off before he even finishes the sentence. </p><p>“Great, thanks, be right back!” he chokes out, his fingers already slipping against the buttons of his shirt.</p><p>When he gets the door shut (and locked, thank <em> fuck</em>) and the light on, he looks at himself in the mirror. </p><p>“Ah, fuck.” </p><p>To put it simply, he looks like a stray animal that was caught in the rain. Except that animal is wearing an ugly ass six-dollar Hawaiian shirt from a thrift store. </p><p>His hair, which only looks decent once in a blue moon, is nearly matted to his head with sweat. And not only does he have sweat stains under his arms and spreading down the sides of his body, but he also has beautiful little smiley faces of sweat under his man-tits.</p><p>As he tugs the shirt off his body, he berates himself for being so disgusting and so nervous all the fucking time.</p><p>There are hand towels hanging on the rack, and he only mildly regrets using them to dry the sweat off his head and body. Then, upon realizing that there’s nowhere to hide the evidence, he panics and puts the towel back on the rack. </p><p>For a second, he thinks he’s fine and then remembers he still has a damp shirt sitting on the sink.</p><p>So, his shit brain gets the wonderful idea to grab the hair dryer from its holder, plug it in, and attempt to use it to dry his shirt.</p><p>He nearly shits himself when Eddie’s voice comes through the door.</p><p>"Are you alright?" </p><p>"Yeah, just taking a shit!" </p><p>Yes! <em> Great one. </em> God, Richie, you’re so <em> charming</em>.</p><p>"It sounds like you're using my hair dryer.” Eddie waits a beat for a reply, then asks, “Um, why are you using my hair dryer?" </p><p>Richie pauses and glances around the bathroom for an excuse. He seriously considers kicking out the screen in the window and making a run for it. But, he wouldn’t fit. Damn these broad shoulders and juicy thighs. </p><p>“I’m fine! Everything is good here!” Richie turns the hair dryer off and the water on. Then, he starts waving his shirt around furiously, praying that it’s at least a little drier.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“I was just freshening up, just making myself presentable,” Richie says, though he’s positive that he has never used a hair dryer in his fucking life.</p><p>"You don't look like you've used a fucking hair dryer in your life. Like, ever." </p><p>"Very funny,” Richie replies. He stops fanning his shirt and sniffs the air. “Hey, do you smell something burning or am I having a stroke?" </p><p>"<em>What</em>?" </p><p>Richie sniffs the air again. "Something is definitely burning." </p><p>There’s a long pause and then: "Oh, no. Oh, <em> fuck.</em>"</p><p>Richie gets his damp shirt back onto his perpetually damp body, takes a deep breath, and opens the door to head back to the kitchen. </p><p>A dejected looking Eddie stands in the middle of the smoke-filled kitchen, holding what looks like a scorched pot roast. "I fucked up." </p><p>Richie laughs, because he never learned to read the room. "Shit yeah, you did. I thought <em> I </em> was gonna fuck the whole night up. You beat me to it." </p><p>“I fucked up,” Eddie repeats, dropping the entire pan into the sink. He turns on the water and sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I really fucked up.”</p><p>So, okay, now Richie feels a <em> little </em>bad about laughing. </p><p>“I have ice cream at my house,” he blurts out. “It’s what I eat when I’m sad about being a failure and it always cheers me up.”</p><p>Eddie peels his hands off his face and asks, “What flavor?”</p><p>Richie grins. “My motto is ‘Rocky Road Or Go Fuck Yourself.’”</p><p>It gets a slightly choked laugh from Eddie. He sighs and says, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get it.”</p><p>When Richie comes back with the carton, they both agree that bowls are for bougie folk and instead they grab two spoons and get cozy on the covered patio swing in Eddie’s backyard.</p><p>The sun has set, there’s a nice breeze, and the rocky road has the perfect ratio of almonds to marshmallows. The sexy cherry on top is Eddie sitting next to him, wolfing the ice cream down like it’s his last meal. </p><p>“I never ate this when I was a kid,” he says, noticing the amused smile on Richie’s face. “I, um, wasn’t allowed. Now I feel like I have to make up for it. This and, like, every other thing I missed out on.”</p><p>“Like fucking men?” Richie asks, licking up the length of his spoon in the most disgustingly suggestive way possible.</p><p>Eddie isn’t even fazed. He might be a keeper. “Exactly.”</p><p>“Did you just not have a gay community where you’re from?” Richie asks. “I mean, I stayed in the closet because I hate myself, but I figure other people have better reasons.”</p><p>“I’m from New York,” Eddie says. “I’d say there’s a pretty big gay community.”</p><p>"So, why California? New York isn’t gay enough?" </p><p>“Well.” Eddie clears his throat, keeping his eyes on the ice cream. “I just got divorced. Thought it would be a good idea to get as far away as possible. Starting over, and all that.”</p><p>“Felt that way when I left rehab for the first time,” Richie says. “Except I just moved from DTLA to the fucking suburbs.”</p><p>Eddie laughs and says, “Yeah, well if I had just moved a town over my ex-wife would have found me in a day and begged me to change my mind.”</p><p>Richie pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Excuse me, did you just say <em> 'wife</em>?'" </p><p>Eddie nods and takes a bite of ice cream. “Yeah, I did." </p><p>"Holy shit, I thought <em> I </em>was deep in the closet. You were married to a woman?" </p><p>"For like five years." </p><p>"Five years?!" Richie is shouting, he knows it. But this is one of those rare moments when it’s actually appropriate for him to shout. “Are you serious?”</p><p>Eddie chuckles in that detached way people in group therapy do when they’re actively repressing an awful memory. "Wish I wasn’t."  </p><p>Richie is strangely enthralled by it all. The same man who knowingly skinny-dips as his creepy neighbor watches was married to a woman for <em> five years? </em></p><p>"Did she not know you were gayer than a box of glitter dildos on Christmas Day?"</p><p>Eddie shrugs. "I don't know. But, she's so… stubborn that she probably would have ignored it anyway. Fucking weird Catholic thing." </p><p>"Oh, you don't even have to say more." </p><p>"Good." Eddie taps his spoon against the empty ice cream carton. “I don’t really like talking about it.”</p><p>“That’s fine by me.” Richie takes the empty carton and sets it aside. Then he exaggerates a yawn and drapes an arm over Eddie’s shoulder. "So...this means I'm the first thing on your 'just divorced/newly out of the closet’ to-do list?" </p><p>Eddie doesn’t even crack a smile, which Richie takes a challenge. "Please don’t say it like that." </p><p>Richie presses on, leaning into his space. “You want to <em>do</em> <em>me</em>. You said it yourself. I’m first and you have no idea how special it is to me that you picked me. I will cherish the memory of you jizzing in my hand for the rest of my life.”</p><p>Eddie bites back a smile. “If you don’t shut up-,”</p><p>“Make me,” Richie says, leaning in closer. Eddie smells like chocolate and burnt potatoes. In the faint light coming in from the house, he’s still unfairly handsome.</p><p>Finally, Eddie laughs. “Nice one. Very original.”</p><p>“It got you to laugh.”</p><p>Eddie attempts to scowl, and fails miserably. “Kiss me, you fucking idiot.”</p><p>Being bossed around is another one of those weird things that turn Richie on. One of the many turn ons that probably stem from some terrible event from his childhood. But he’s a good boy, so he cups his hand against Eddie’s cheek and does as he’s told. </p><p>It’s slower and sweeter than their last kiss, both pressing closer and closer until they're nearly on top of each other. Soon, Eddie is reaching into Richie’s lap and grabbing his dick through the rough denim. </p><p>Against the shell of Richie’s ear, he asks, “Can I?”</p><p>“Be my guest,” Richie answers, and boy does he want to belt out a Beauty and the Beast tune right about now. “I mean, go ahead.”</p><p>Eddie fumbles with Richie’s zipper, his fingers trembling. Richie wants to tell him it’s okay, but he knows he’ll fuck that up somehow. Instead he places a hand over Eddie’s and helps him along. </p><p>And once Richie’s dick is out, Eddie literally gasps. “Oh.”</p><p>No one has ever looked at Richie’s dick this long without doing something. It’s the weirdest fucking thing. “What?”</p><p>"Nothing. It's just...big." Eddie wraps his hand around it and gives a few experimental strokes. “Holy shit. This is actually the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“But is that saying much when you haven’t seen any?” Richie asks.</p><p>To that, Eddie tells him to shut the fuck up before leaning in for another kiss. He starts moving his hand and it’s a little too soft and slow for Richie’s taste, but beggars can’t be choosers. Then, when Richie reaches a hand into Eddie’s lap, <em> expertly </em> undoes his zipper, and slips a hand under the waistband of his boxers, Eddie whimpers and tightens his grip around Richie’s dick. He bites down on Richie’s lower lip and speeds up his movements until they’re messy and uncoordinated.</p><p>But still, it’s <em> so fucking good</em>. Something about them sitting in the semi-dark, jacking each other off as they trade deep, sloppy kisses feels like a secret. Richie thrusts into Eddie’s hand and Eddie responds with a flick of a wrist that nearly sends him over the edge. Eddie is leaking in Richie’s hand, impossibly wet—he moans into Richie’s mouth, tells him that he’s close. It makes Richie proud. It’s one of the only things he knows how to do relatively well. Eddie pulls back, letting Richie’s dick go in the process, and drops his head against the back of the seat. </p><p>For the first time, Richie gets a good look at Eddie’s dick. He’s seen a lot, and he doesn’t know what the criteria is for a nice dick, but he has to say that this is the nicest one he’s seen in a while. It’s thick in his hand, curving beautifully against his stomach. </p><p>Eddie comes with Richie’s name on his lips, his thighs shaking and eyes shut. Then, he exhales, opens his eyes and wastes no time getting back to the situation at hand. The situation being that Richie is still painfully hard. He turns in his seat, wrapping both hands around Richie’s dick and, for lack of a better phrasing, goes to town. </p><p>Usually Richie likes to be polite and warn the other person before he comes. But, it sneaks up on him so quickly there’s nothing he can do. In one second, he’s biting down on his lip to try not to cry out and in the next, he’s coming.</p><p>And what does poor, inexperienced Eddie do? He clamps a hand over the head of Richie’s dick to catch all of the jizz in his palm. To which Richie looks down at and says, half dazed, “What the hell?”</p><p>Eddie starts to laugh, keeping his hand in place. “I didn’t know what to do! What was I supposed to do?”</p><p>“I don’t know, but not that?” Richie removes Eddie’s hand and as grateful as he is for the attempt to help, it’s only a bigger mess for the both of them.</p><p>Still laughing, Eddie gets up and goes back into the house. He returns seconds later with the exact same sweaty hand towels from the bathroom. </p><p>-</p><p>Richie can count on one hand the amount of times he has put real effort into his appearance. It’s possible that when you’re too worried about getting high and simultaneously fighting the urge not to kill yourself, appearance ends up on the back burner. </p><p>But, he’s got some good things going for him. He’s doing well. He's taking his medicine, he isn't doing coke, he isn’t on Grindr (as of three weeks ago), and he isn’t hooking up with 20 year olds. On top of all that, Eddie Kaspbrak lives next door and still wants to have sex with him.</p><p>So, with all that being said, Richie should really trim his pubes.</p><p>He’s currently standing in front of the mirror rocking the Donald Duck look—t-shirt on top and nothing on the bottom. </p><p>Bill and Mike do not appreciate the picture he sends of himself with his dick tucked between his legs. They don’t even respond, making it a total waste of a joke. Then, they both hang up on him when he calls and opens with: “<em>Hey, what’s the proper technique for shaving your pubes and possibly your asshole?” </em></p><p>But Beverly, the angel that she is, just laughs and tells him, "Take your time. Shave in the same direction the hair grows. Don't press too hard. It's like shaving your face right?" </p><p>“I barely know how to do <em> that</em>.” </p><p>“You can do it Richie, I believe in you.” </p><p>"You're a doll." </p><p>Richie hangs up, with a new found confidence, and gets to work.</p><p>Five minutes in, he loses interest and gives up. </p><p>“Good enough,” he mutters, before stripping down and stepping into the shower.</p><p>Maybe the manscaping idea was a bust, but he <em> does </em> remember to use conditioner after washing his hair, and he <em> does </em> clip his nails, shave his face, and pluck the weird long nose hair from his left nostril.</p><p>Feeling accomplished and somewhat sexier, he sends a text to Eddie.</p><p><em> ‘shaved my pubes for you. this is a big step.' </em> </p><p>Eddie texts back quickly, like his phone was already in his hand. ‘<em>That's so thoughtful of you, Richie.’</em></p><p>
  <em> 'are you home?' </em>
</p><p><em> 'Yeah, I just got back from a run.' </em> </p><p>"What a fucking humble brag," Richie says. Then, he snaps a mirror selfie of himself wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a hand over his junk, and sends it to Eddie with no commentary other than a smiley face emoji.</p><p>Moments later, before he’s even fully dressed, Richie’s phone vibrates with a multimedia message. When he opens it up, he literally has to take a seat.</p><p>“Oh, fuck me.”</p><p>Eddie, standing completely naked in front of a full length mirror, with his half-hard dick in his hand and a hilariously uncertain expression on his face. </p><p>
  <em> 'This is the first nude picture I've ever sent to anyone. You're welcome.’ </em>
</p><p>Richie is still trying to collect his thoughts when his phone vibrates again.</p><p><em> 'By the way, you look like Donald Duck. Which shouldn't have turned me on, but you have a weird effect on me.' </em> And seconds later: <em> ‘Just so you know.' </em> </p><p>Finally, the blood returns to Richie’s head and he types out a reply.</p><p><em> 'can I come over?' </em> </p><p>
  <em> 'Ten minutes.’ </em>
</p><p>Richie isn’t ashamed to admit that he waits on Eddie’s doorstep for eight minutes before ringing the doorbell. There’s no answer, so after another full minute, he tries the doorknob and it’s open. </p><p>“I could be a serial killer, you know,” Richie calls, once he steps into the house. </p><p>Eddie’s voice comes from the top of the stairs. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”</p><p>Richie locks the door behind him, says hello to Lady (from a distance—they still aren’t on the greatest terms) and starts up the stairs. </p><p>He finds Eddie in his bedroom, standing at his dresser in nothing but a sinfully tight pair of boxers. </p><p>“Aw, did you get all dressed up for me?”</p><p>Eddie turns, with the same restrained grin on his face that Richie will never get sick of, and says, “Come here, you idiot.”</p><p>Why does Richie get hard when Eddie insults him? There’s something about the bite in his voice when he calls Richie an idiot or an asshole that takes him from half chub to rock hard in seconds.</p><p>Eddie pulls Richie in close by his collar and snakes both arms around his waist, teasing his fingers under the hem of Richie’s shirt. Richie buries his nose into the crook of Eddie’s neck, against his soft skin and damp hair. “You smell good.”</p><p>Eddie presses his face to Richie’s chest and inhales deeply. “So do you.”</p><p>Richie pulls back. “Notice anything different?”</p><p>“Um?” Eddie studies Richie’s face. “I don’t. What is it?”</p><p>“I remembered to put conditioner in my hair,” Richie says, proudly. </p><p>“It looks exactly the same,” Eddie says. </p><p>“Bullshit. Feel it.”</p><p>Humming, Eddie smooths his hands up around the back of Richie’s neck and combs his fingers upwards through his hair. The gentle touch gives Richie goosebumps and makes his knees weak.</p><p>“It’s soft,” Eddie breathes, still kneading his fingers through Richie’s hair.</p><p>“Please keep doing that,” Richie tells him, not even giving a shit if he sounds desperate. He kisses along the length of Eddie’s neck, dragging a hand from his chest down to his hip. Eddie moves into the touch, tightens his grip on Richie’s hair and tugs just enough to get a surprised gasp out of him. </p><p>The sting fades into pleasure and Richie basically moans, “If you do that again, I swear I’ll suck your dick.”</p><p>Eddie looks Richie right in the eye, smirks, and pulls his hair with more force than before. </p><p>And Richie drops to his knees without a word. </p><p>It’s slutty of him, but Richie <em> really </em> likes sucking dick. He likes getting his hair pulled and having someone grab his ears and get rough with him. Eddie does all three without being asked to—one hand fisted in Richie’s hair to keep him in place, and one hand gripping his ear as he messily thrusts into Richie’s mouth—and Richie is in heaven. He likes being on his knees with his mouth stretched and full, looking up through teary eyes at how the other person falls apart. It’s easy and he’s fucking good at it. He doesn’t have to think, he just has to follow the other person’s lead.</p><p>Eddie curses and his thighs tremble under Richie’s palms. When Eddie comes, he holds Richie still by the back of the head, giving him no choice but to swallow. </p><p>Which he would have done anyway because he’s a good boy.</p><p>“Fuck, Richie you’re so good at that.” Eddie tucks his dick back into his boxers and Richie just looks up at him, absolutely glowing at the praise. </p><p>“Tell me more nice things.” </p><p>“You look really good on your knees,” Eddie says, and Richie could actually faint. “But, I think I want you in my bed. Now.”</p><p>Something happens once Richie is stretched out on Eddie’s neatly made bed. The sun is shining bright through the window and Eddie is crawling up the bed to lie on top of him, his movements unhurried and deliberate as he slips a hand under Richie’s t-shirt.</p><p>Richie looks at Eddie’s dark, intense eyes and freezes.</p><p>It's too bright in the room, they’re moving too slow, and Eddie is too hot. </p><p>Eddie stops, and sensing the question on his lips, Richie blurts out: “I’m fine.”</p><p>Jesus, what is happening to him? Who has he become? Is he really about to turn down this fine piece of ass because he’s suddenly <em> nervous </em> about some shit he can’t even explain?</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Eddie sits up, still stroking up and down Richie’s chest. He stills his hand at Richie’s shoulder, keeping the shirt rucked up over his torso. “Is this not okay?”</p><p>“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s fine.” Richie licks his lips, and he fucking hates that his stomach starts to twist and his heart starts to race the longer Eddie looks at his bare chest. “I promise.”</p><p>Eddie waits a beat for Richie to admit he’s lying, then pulls the shirt back down. “You can leave it on. Just tell me next time,” he says, positioning himself between Richie’s legs and unbuttoning his jeans. “Don't try and bullshit me.” </p><p>Richie forgets all about his stupid insecurities when Eddie’s warm, wet mouth is on his dick. Eddie takes his time, swirling his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, and flicking his eyes up at Richie’s for reassurance. Richie just nods, letting himself go slack. He closes his eyes, releasing every sigh and whimper, and lets Eddie take care of him.</p><p>-</p><p>The sex is great, but it’s unfortunate that Eddie is so into cuddling. </p><p>He admits to Richie that he never thought it would be a <em> ‘thing’ </em>for him, but now he’s starving for touch and not too shy to ask for it.</p><p>They’ve agreed to take things relatively slow. For the most part, Richie is fine with that. Eddie is a self-proclaimed ‘homebody,’ and all he wants to do when he leaves work is spend time with Richie. If they aren’t having sex, they’re passing time with mindless chatter or silently laying next to each other with the TV on in the background. Most of that’s fine, <em> great </em> even. Still, Richie holds a deep sense of restlessness that he can’t shake.</p><p>It’s not that he wants to rush. (To be very clear, he has no complaints about an endless supply of handjobs and blowjobs). But, the thing is, he doesn’t know how to <em> not </em> rush.</p><p>Richie has had issues sitting still for as long as he can remember, but when you tack on his lack of experience with actual intimacy and his inability to be completely vulnerable when he’s sober, cuddling for more than a few minutes makes him wants to crawl out of his fucking skin.</p><p>“This movie sucks,” Eddie mumbles, curling into Richie’s side. Richie hums in response, shifting to get comfortable in his seat. Suddenly, Eddie's couch is the most uncomfortable thing he has ever sat on.</p><p>The other thing is this: </p><p>Richie has never slept with the same person more than once. It’s usually a ‘one and done’ kind of situation for him. Fast, rough, and in the dark with faceless men. High out of their minds, just using each other to escape for a short time. </p><p>“You’re quiet, it’s weird.” Eddie flicks Richie’s earlobe. “Say something, you’re freaking me out.”</p><p>“Uh,” Richie blinks at the TV. He doesn’t even remember what they’re watching. From the looks of it, it’s a shitty indie romance-drama. “Do you think I could be a better leading man than that guy?”</p><p>“You’re cuter than him,” Eddie says with a yawn. He pulls Richie’s arm around him tighter and adds, “And more charming.”</p><p>Richie smiles. “That’s sweet of you to lie to my face to make me feel better.”</p><p>This is probably completely normal, to want to be close to someone you’re hooking up with on a semi-regular basis. But, Richie doesn’t know how to explain to Eddie that before they met, the closest he got to true vulnerability was sobbing in group therapy and the most unguarded he has ever felt was when he was too high and drunk to speak up or to say stop-</p><p>Richie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, as if he can will the memories away. All it does is leave him with the indiscernible sickness he’s been living with for years.</p><p>If this is taking it slow, he doesn’t know if he can manage it.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Huh?” Richie looks down and Eddie is staring at him, concern etched into his features. “Yep, I’m good.”</p><p>Good. Amazing. So amazing that he’ll actually call his therapist tomorrow to talk about it.</p><p>“Do you want me to get you off?” Richie taps his fingers against Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie places his hand on top.</p><p>“I’m tired,” Eddie says. “Later. You horndog.”</p><p>Richie looks at the clock on the wall above the TV and counts fifteen seconds before he gets to his feet, mumbles an excuse about being hungry, and leaves the room.</p><p>He stands in the dark kitchen, opens a bottle of beer, and drinks the entire thing before stepping back into the living room. </p><p>-</p><p>Richie’s stand-up comedy career ended around the same time he got released from his agency due to being hospitalized for the third time that year. (<em> “An accident in my garage,” </em> he had explained. They didn’t buy it.)</p><p>When he left the hospital, he checked himself into rehab. When he left rehab, he fired his manager and started a podcast. Bill and Mike were wary about him being fresh out of rehab and having the bright idea to start a podcast about sex and drugs. And once he started to actually follow through, he can’t say he didn’t start to agree with them.</p><p>He attributes his persistence to that weird, somewhat false level of confidence you get after bouncing back from rock bottom. After everything he had gone through, he literally had nothing else to lose.</p><p>The weekly show gives him something to focus on. Instead of stumbling into his house at 5 AM, he stumbles down the stairs to set up for the podcast—making phone calls to old comedian friends to convince them to be a guest on the show, fucking around with audio and video equipment that he still doesn’t completely understand, and brainstorming topics (as if he would ever run out of things to talk about). </p><p>It takes an entire hour of begging before Eddie agrees to make a guest appearance on the show. Richie suspects he wanted to say yes from the beginning, only playing hard to get just to see Richie’s pathetic, and potentially disturbing, puppy eyes. </p><p>Before the show, Beverly graces them with her presence for breakfast. As they eat, she tells them about all the auditions and gigs she has coming up. She and Richie met years ago, in a dingy bar downtown and they hit it off immediately because nothing else brings people together like sharing stories about childhood trauma. At the time, she was just an up-and-coming comedian, and now she’s on her way to being more successful than Richie has been or ever will be. It’s the red hair, he thinks. Not enough natural fire-crotches in Hollywood.</p><p>Eddie follows them into the studio, dutifully ignoring the 10-inch anatomically correct dildo attached to the center of the table via suction cup, and takes a seat.  </p><p>Richie beams at him, handing him a pair of headphones. “I think it’s cute how you’re always scowling.” </p><p>Eddie puts the headphones on and crosses his arms. “I’m not scowling. This is just my face.” </p><p>"Small and angry. I love it." Richie puts on his headphones and attempts to pinch Eddie’s cheek. Eddie grins, dropping his faux pout, and slaps his hand away. </p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“Speaking of fucking!” Richie presses a button on the soundboard and lets his short 8-bit theme song play. Next to him, Eddie giggles and shakes his head.</p><p>When the cameras are rolling, it’s easy for Richie to be a heightened, more exaggerated version of himself. Every time he comes down, gets in front of the microphone, and starts the show, it’s easy to remember why he fell in love with performing.</p><p>Also, it helps that Eddie is so close by, radiating a constant positive energy, despite his perpetual pout.</p><p>“Welcome to this week’s installment of Not Getting Any Younger. I’m Richie, aka Trashmouth, the same washed up, aging comedian from last week. Today I have with me the lovely Beverly Marsh, who you all know and love. Side note: I know she’s beautiful and amazing in every way, but please, for the love of God, stop sending dick pics to her. She will never notice you, and your parents and/or children think you’re a disappointment.”</p><p>Beverly breaks into a round of applause. “Thank you so much for the PSA. If I see another picture of a half flaccid penis held next to a fucking video game controller to ‘show perspective’ or ‘scale’ I will lose my damn mind. Also, I’m sorry, I don’t know how many inches an XBOX controller is so if you want me to know how big your dick is... send me money. And maybe I’ll consider opening your sixteen messages that just say ‘hey.’”</p><p>“What a woman,” Richie comments. He finally motions to Eddie, who hasn’t stopped laughing since Richie started the show. “Also joining us today is Eddie. My...<em> friend</em>? Neighbor? Fuck-buddy? Which one of those do you think is more applicable, sweetheart?”</p><p>Blushing, Eddie says, “All three, I think.”</p><p>“Before we start, I have one request.” Richie turns to Eddie fully, and Eddie is already giving him a wary look. “Eddie, <em> sweetheart</em>, can you go on record and say how big my dick is?”</p><p>Eddie goes so red that it’s almost worrying. But, if Richie has learned anything about him in the past few weeks, it’s that the newly-divorced/fresh-out-of-the-closet Eddie rarely backs down from a challenge. He rolls his eyes and leans in to speak into the mic. “At least 8 and a half to 9 inches. That’s not an official measurement, but I think I have a good eye.”</p><p>“Is it as thick as a Pringles can like he keeps insisting?” Beverly asks. “People wouldn’t think you were lying about having a big dick if you didn’t make outrageous claims like that. Like, wow, could you imagine?”</p><p>“I-,” Eddie is laughing so hard he has to compose himself before finishing his sentence. “A Pringles can? I’m sorry, I can’t back up that claim.”</p><p>“Bev, did I ever tell you how Eddie and I met? The full story, not the abridged, panicked version told at 2 AM.”</p><p>Eddie groans and, quite literally, puts his head in his hands.</p><p>“From what I know, you’re a creepy son of a bitch who watches your neighbors swim naked,” Beverly says. “Next thing I know, you’re texting me about how he let you suck him off.”</p><p>“First off,” Richie says, holding up a finger, “Eddie is the only neighbor I’ve ever creeped on.”</p><p>“I’d like to add that I knew from the very first night that he was watching me,” Eddie interjects. “And, I’m positive we made eye contact at least once.”</p><p>Beverly laughs. “Oh, a little exhibitionist, are you Eddie?”</p><p>“You know, I never thought I would have been but when I noticed him up on his balcony, I got... excited?”</p><p>“I think <em> horny </em> is the word you’re looking for, Eddie,” Richie says. “Also, does it make it less creepy that he knew I was watching? Because I didn’t know that he knew, you know?” </p><p>Beverly hums, considering the question. “It’s a very nuanced situation. If Eddie were a woman, there would be a hashtag trending right now demanding that Richie be canceled.”</p><p>Richie winces. “That brings me to my second point, actually. Eddie was the one who initiated our little...situation, for lack of a better word. He came to me and literally said he wanted to fuck me. What kind of dumb ass would have said no? Despite that, I will say that we are ‘taking it slow.’ Meaning we’re not jumping into anything too nasty. Not yet, anyway.”</p><p>Then Eddie, quite candidly, says: “I literally gave Richie a handjob at a restaurant last week.”</p><p>“Wow.” Beverly looks intrigued. "How was that?" </p><p>"Exciting,” Eddie says, totally deadpan. “For about three minutes, anyway. Then you remember how inconvenient it is to have pre-come on your hand in public." </p><p>Richie finds himself squirming at the memory of trying to stay quiet as the server refilled their drinks.</p><p>“On that note, let’s move on to this week’s random topic.” Richie pulls a folded piece of paper out of the hat next to the dildo and opens it up. As he reads the words, his stomach drops. “Worst sexual experiences.” </p><p>Beverly laughs and says, “Oh boy, I have to think. You go first.” </p><p>Now, there are a few ways Richie could approach this. He could brush it off by picking a random experience, he could make up something outlandish, or he could tell the truth.</p><p>Instead, he goes for good old self-deprecation. “It’s hard to pick. I mean, aren’t all sexual experiences embarrassing when you have major intimacy issues and used to only have sex while high?” </p><p>Beverly, the fucking angel she is, saves Richie’s ass by filling the awkward silence. “What about that time in college when you threw up on that guy’s dick?” </p><p>“Ew, what the fuck,” Eddie comments, grimacing.</p><p>“Thanks for reminding me,” Richie says, smiling wryly. “That was fucked up. But not worse than the time I started falling asleep on top of a guy when my dick was still inside him.” </p><p>Eddie holds out a hand, starting to laugh. “Pause. I need that entire story. You can’t just gloss over it like that.” </p><p>“I took a bunch of pills and crashed. The end,” Richie explains. Better to keep those stories short and concise. No one wants to hear gross details about how sloppy he used to be.</p><p>“Wait, hold up, how is that worse than literally vomiting on someone’s genitals? I would die of embarrassment,” Beverly says.</p><p>Eddie chuckles. “I think I would die of a heart attack if anyone’s puke was anywhere near my dick.”</p><p>“Not your kind of kinky?” Richie asks, wiggling his eyebrows. </p><p>“You disgust me,” Eddie says, grinning from ear to ear. </p><p>“You know what’s disgusting?” Beverly prompts. “Guys who don’t wash their hands before fingering you. That probably contributes to most of my awful sexual experiences. I was with a guy once who, I swear to God, licked hot cheeto dust off his fingers and immediately put his hand down my pants to touch my clit. I screamed, like an actual scream. If my pussy had teeth it would have bitten his fucking fingers off.” </p><p>“Let me make another PSA.” Richie clears his throat and shouts, “Wash your fucking hands before you touch my beautiful friend’s precious flower!”</p><p>“Don’t call it a flower,” Beverly mutters, for the 100th time since they’ve met.</p><p>“What about you, sweetheart?” Richie says, turning to Eddie. It’s a new nickname. Eddie pretends to hate it. “Tell us about your worst sexual experience.”</p><p>Predictably, Eddie starts with: “Stop calling me sweetheart,” and then says, “I guess, if I really have to think about it, all of my sexual experiences before Richie were terrible. I mean, the first time I touched a dick, I actually cried. I thought I was going to get sick and die. I was 18.”</p><p>Richie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Is that your worst? I feel like you’re holding out on us.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not like I have a huge library to choose from. Unless you count the dozen times I’ve had your dick in my mouth and/or hand.” </p><p>“I <em> do </em> count those.” </p><p>Eddie just smiles, his face going pink again. “I haven’t had any bad sexual experiences with you.” </p><p>It gives Richie that glowing feeling he gets when he’s on his knees, but he goads him on anyway, because he’s a shithead. “Don’t lie because there’s a microphone in front of you.” </p><p>In response, Eddie smirks. “Oh, no, I would absolutely tell everyone if you were bad in bed. I think you’d get a kick out of it though, because you’re a glutton for punishment.” </p><p>“You-” It actually leaves Richie speechless for a minute. Which is rare. “You’re on thin ice, Kaspbrak.”  </p><p>A silence follows and Eddie clears his throat before speaking again. </p><p>“Can we talk about the giant silicone dick on the table?” </p><p>“Ah, this old thing? I’m so glad you asked!” Richie removes the dildo from the table with a loud <em> pop </em> and holds it in both hands because it’s that damn heavy. He puts on his best radio DJ voice and announces, “It’s our beautiful centerpiece gifted by one of our lovely sponsors. Kinky Dreams, the best sex toy company this side of the Rocky Mountains!” </p><p>Then he proceeds to flick his tongue at the dildo, before holding it out in front of Eddie’s face.</p><p>“Dare you to deep throat it.” </p><p>Eddie looks scandalized. “I just learned how to give head like two weeks ago.” </p><p>“And you are <em> fantastic </em> at it.” Richie prods him with the dildo, teasing because he knows Eddie likes it.</p><p>“Aww, Richie, you flatter me.” Eddie places a delicate hand over his chest and says, sweetly, “But I don’t know where that fucking thing has been.”</p><p>“You didn’t know where my thing had been either. That didn’t stop you.”</p><p>Beverly coos. “Aren’t you two so cute? I’m blushing over here.”  </p><p>“Richie, I swear if you don’t get that out of my face.” Eddie swats at the dildo, but can’t help but laugh. Giant dildos are funny, no matter the situation. “Why don’t <em> you </em> deepthroat it? It’s your show. Give the people what they want.”</p><p>And Richie really wishes he weren’t so desperately eager to make Eddie laugh, and also unable to decline a dare, even if it’s asinine and childish. Because he just nods, tips his head back and puts the dildo in his mouth. It takes a little effort, but he gets it almost all the way down his throat before choking. </p><p>Eddie laughs so hard that he doubles over, tears rolling down his cheeks. </p><p>-</p><p>They’re on their way back from lunch when Eddie, out of the blue, announces that he would like to go to a sex shop for the first time.</p><p>Richie nearly crashes his car. </p><p>“You’re never been to a sex shop? Ever?”</p><p>“No. I ordered my secret sex toys online like a normal person.” </p><p>Richie does an extremely illegal U-turn and decides, “That’s it, we’re going.”</p><p>Eddie looks amused, reaching over the center console to squeeze Richie’s thigh. “Right now? That’s so spontaneous of you.”</p><p>“I think they’re word you’re looking for is <em> ‘impulsive</em>,” Richie says, “So, tell me more about these secret sex toys. In detail, if you need to.” </p><p>"I had one. My wife-” Eddie pauses. “I mean, my <em> ex-wife </em> found it and basically had a fucking nervous breakdown. Things got weird after that." </p><p>“I bet it did,” Richie says, deciding not to harp on the slip-up. It doesn’t freak him out knowing that Eddie used to be with a woman—he would be a hypocrite if he judged anyone for their past, especially considering he was in the closet for decades before coming out. Also, he might be obnoxious and useless at deep, emotional conversations, but he isn’t so dense that he doesn’t understand how complicated Eddie’s situation is. </p><p>As they pull into the lot in front of the shop, Eddie says, “I bet you probably have a whole drawer of toys. One for every day of the week.”</p><p>Richie feigns being shocked. “What are you trying to say?”</p><p>Eddie just gives him a <em> look </em> as if to say <em> ‘You know exactly what the fuck I’m trying to say.’ </em></p><p>“Okay, rude,” Richie laughs, putting the car in park. “You’re wrong actually. I’m not big on toys. I’m partial to a paddle every now and then. Or a cock ring, if I’m feeling fancy. No butt toys though.”</p><p>“So, what, you just use your <em> fingers </em>? Were you raised in a barn?”</p><p>Eddie is bewildered, and it’s hilarious. </p><p>“People have been using their fingers since the dawn of time, Eddie.”</p><p>Eddie picks up Richie’s hand and separates his fingers. “Maybe if they have freakishly long fingers and big ass hands like you. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”</p><p>“I know, and what a waste these are,” Richie says, tickling his fingers under Eddie’s chin. “Because I actually don’t finger myself.”</p><p>“And why is that?”</p><p>Here’s another one of those silver platter moments when Richie has the opportunity be open and honest about his weird hang-ups about certain <em> sex things, </em> instead of making a stupid joke.</p><p>And yet...</p><p>“I’m a slut, duh,” Richie says, very serious. “I let the other person do it for me. Plus, I don’t need much prep. At this point, it’s like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.”</p><p>“Excuse me, what?” Eddie looks downright appalled. “Please tell me you’re joking. Sometimes I seriously can’t tell if you are.”</p><p>Richie breaks, starting to laugh. “No, but what a mental image that is, right? I am a slut though. That part is true.”</p><p>They finally get out of the car and instinctively, Richie takes Eddie's hand. Eddie smiles, slotting their fingers together without a second thought. It makes Richie’s chest do a weird thing. What is that? Adoration? Fondness? Comfort?</p><p>“Oh, I know,” Eddie says, matter-of-factly. “You’re very open about your sexual conquests.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean I’m proud.”</p><p>“Could have fooled me.”</p><p>Richie drapes his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and pulls him close as they enter the shop. “Doesn’t that make you so excited for me to be your first?”</p><p>Eddie laughs and shoves him away, but reaches out immediately to take his hand again. “Ew, don’t make it weird.”</p><p>The shop is one that attempts to center on <em> sensual </em> and <em> romantic </em> things. It’s for couples. It’s for bachelorette parties and ‘girls nights.’ It’s for guys who waited last minute to find a sexy Valentine’s Day gift. No freaky sex dolls, excessively large whips and chains, or questionable porn in sight. </p><p>Leave it to this place to take the kink out of buying a sex toy.</p><p>“It smells like a cheap vanilla candle in here,” Eddie comments.</p><p>He doesn’t look as nervous or uncomfortable as Richie expected, but he does freeze near the entryway to take everything in.</p><p>“So, what do you think, sweetheart?” Richie asks, squeezing his hand. “Initial thoughts?”</p><p>“I think we should try out a different nickname for me,” Eddie answers, leading Richie to a table of travel size lube. “I was waiting to see if I’d start liking it, but I hate it. Sorry.”</p><p>“Noted...honeybun?” Richie tries.</p><p>Eddie doesn’t even look at him. He just shakes his head and says, “No fucking thanks.”</p><p>Richie grins and chews his lip. “Well, just so you know, I’d like it if you called <em> me </em> honeybun.”</p><p>“Of course you’d like that,” Eddie says, flicking his eyes up at him. He bites back a grin and adds, “<em>Honeybun</em>.”</p><p>And, it’s not like Richie was trying to hide the fact that he’s whipped. He, quite literally, puts a hand over his chest and sighs. </p><p>Eddie bursts into laughter. “Did that do something for you?”</p><p>“God, you don’t even fucking know.” Richie says, "I love pet names. It's the part of me that craves constant validation. So, all of me, really."</p><p>As he leads them to a rack of mesh crop tops and lingerie, Eddie asks, casually: "Do you have a favorite one?"</p><p>A wave of warmth washes over Richie's body just thinking about it. It's most definitely a <em> thing. </em></p><p>"If I tell you, you'll say it now," Richie tells him. "And I can't be responsible for my actions under the influence of that particular word."</p><p>"Bet I can guess it before the day is over."</p><p>"I'd like to see you try," Richie replies, shuffling through the rack of lingerie. Everything is tiny and has holes in places that would not line up with their anatomy. "Nothing for men? This is discrimination." </p><p>"Any of these could be gender neutral if you wanted them to be." Eddie plucks at a lacy pink pair of underwear. “Actually, where would your dick go in these? That would be...interesting.”</p><p>Richie raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so <em> I’m </em> the one wearing the panties in your fantasies?”</p><p>Eddie blinks at him and goes completely straight-faced. “I don’t know what fantasies you’re speaking of.”</p><p>“You want me to wear lacy pink panties! Admit it!” Richie says, loud enough for the older couple at the counter to hear him. He picks up a pink piece with confusing straps and buckles and a blue set with lace and ruffles. “Or, are one of these more your thing?”</p><p>“Oh, my god.”</p><p>Richie holds the lingerie up against his body, making sure to pose right in the middle of the aisle for everyone to see. “Which one? I think the blue matches my eyes but the pink matches my dick.”</p><p>“Oh, my god,” Eddie repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. He isn’t fooling anyone. His favorite thing is watching Richie make an ass of himself for the sake of comedy, and Richie is well aware of that. It’s his life force, after all. “I like the blue one, I guess. It does match your eyes.” </p><p>“Oooh, a <em> romantic </em>, are you?” Richie puts the lingerie back and picks up the tiniest pair of black latex shorts he has ever seen. “What about these? I mean, you could probably see both my balls from the back in these. But, if you think I could pull them off, I’ll try it.” </p><p>“I don’t know. I wouldn’t know unless you put them on, <em> sweetie</em>.”</p><p>"Nice try. I do love it, but that's not it," Richie smirks. “But still, don’t encourage me. I will buy these right fucking now."</p><p>"Model them for me first," Eddie says, and it's not a question. "There’s a dressing room in the back, right?" </p><p>And, it’s not like Richie can say no. </p><p>In the comically small dressing room, Richie feels like a fucking giant. He kicks off his shoes and his jeans and looks at himself in the mirror. There’s a brief moment where he contemplates his life choices and second-guesses every choice that led up to this obviously awful decision. But, he can’t ever be introspective for too long, so he shrugs and drops his boxers.</p><p>Despite what others may think, Richie can read. Which means he does see the tag that says, in bold lettering: ‘Keep undergarments on when trying on merchandise.’ </p><p>But, you see, the shorts wouldn’t fit if he kept his boxers on. </p><p>They barely fit as is. One size fits all is a myth and he should write an angry letter.</p><p>The tight shorts cut into his thighs and belly, which makes him feel <em> great </em> about his body, really. He almost forgives that sin though, because the shorts make his regular sized ass look amazing. And on top of that, they hug his junk in a way that looks and feels surprisingly good. A very clear outline of his dick is front and center. It’s obscene, yeah. But who is he if not obscene? If it weren’t for the muffin-top, he could pass for a Magic Mike dancer from the waist down. </p><p>“What do you think?” Richie asks, throwing open the door.</p><p>Eddie looks...well, he looks confused.</p><p>“Um, turn around,” he says, tapping a finger on his chin. “Let me see something.”</p><p>Richie turns, doing a little dance for good measure. Nothing major, just a swivel of the hips that makes Eddie laugh.</p><p>“Your ass looks amazing,” he says through laughter. “I’m into this look, for sure.”</p><p>“Well, what are you waiting for?” Richie wiggles his butt at him. “Give it a slap.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, <em> pumpkin</em>."</p><p>Before Richie can come up with another wisecrack, Eddie slaps his ass so hard that he yelps in surprise. </p><p>“Well, <em> shit</em>. 'Pumpkin' was a nice touch but not quite there,” Richie says, stepping back into the dressing room. “At any rate, lets get the fuck out of here so we can get home and you can spank me again. Preferably without clothes.”</p><p>Apparently, hurrying isn’t in the cards. Because the shorts are stuck on his body. </p><p>It’s the perfect storm of him being perpetually sweaty and wearing shorts he never had the business putting on in the first fucking place. </p><p>Still, he curses himself and his juicy thighs as he tries to wiggle out of the unforgiving fabric. After a few frustrating minutes of attempting to peel the waistband down and wondering <em> why the fuck his dick is getting hard </em>, he opens the dressing room door and motions for Eddie to come inside.</p><p>“I have a situation,” he says, when they’re basically chest to chest in the small space. “Not the boner. It's the shorts. I seem to be... stuck.”</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, Richie,” Eddie utters, shaking his head. </p><p>“It was your idea,” Richie reminds him, already laughing. "Now you have to help me."</p><p>It really shouldn’t be funny, but they’re both stifling laughter as they fall over each other trying to get the demon latex shorts off his body. First, Eddie gets on his knees and tries tugging them from the hem and then they both try working together to roll them down over his hips, to no avail. It’s like the harder they try, the tighter the shorts get. </p><p>Eventually, Richie gets another one of his bright ideas.</p><p>He sits on the bench and stretches his legs out, then Eddie grabs the shorts by the waistband, puts one foot on the edge of the bench for leverage and pulls.</p><p>It works, but it also sends Eddie falling back into the door with the ripped, stretched out shorts in his hands. “Holy shit.”</p><p>“Right?” Richie says, far too out of breath for such a small amount of physical activity. He snatches the shorts from Eddie’s hand and kicks them under the bench. </p><p>“You have to buy those!” Eddie hisses. </p><p>“No, I don’t. They were clearly defective.” Richie gets dressed and pulls Eddie into his arms, peppering kisses along his cheeks and temples. “You’re sweet for caring though.”</p><p>“You’re going to get us in trouble,” Eddie says, but the laughter in his voice tells Richie that he wouldn’t mind a little trouble.</p><p>“I like trouble.” </p><p>“I can tell.” Eddie smooths his hand over the bulge in Richie’s jeans. "<em>Darling</em>."</p><p>"Close," Richie says and kisses him, pressing a thigh between his legs. Eddie gasps, reaching around to grab Richie’s ass. </p><p>It’s remarkable how easy it is for them to go from zero to five-hundred in just a few seconds. All it takes is a few well-placed kisses on Eddie’s neck and he’s biting down on his shoulder to stifle a moan.</p><p>“Richie.” </p><p>Still rutting his thigh between Eddie’s legs, he answers, “Yeah?” </p><p>"<em>Richie</em>." </p><p>"I'm listening,” he says, still kissing along Eddie’s neck, dipping his head lower to kiss under his collar. </p><p>"You are <em> not </em> listening."</p><p>"I'm <em> totally </em> listening."</p><p>“Look at me.” Eddie grips Richie’s jaw and forces his head up. </p><p>Richie waits, staring into Eddie’s dilated eyes. "Yeah?” </p><p>Eddie kisses Richie’s bottom lip, slides a hand up his chest, and walks him the few steps back into the wall. Tightening his grip on Richie’s jaw, he presses their hips together, looks him right in the eye, and says firmly, “I want you to wait. Okay, <em> baby</em>?” </p><p>There’s a revealing tremble in Richie's voice when he speaks. “Wait?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Richie swallows the dryness in his mouth. “Until we get to the car, or?” </p><p>“No. Until we get home,” he says, and he softens his tone to add: “Can you do that, baby?” </p><p>“I’d give you my wallet right now if you asked for it.” </p><p>"<em>Baby</em>. That's it." Eddie grins, and lets go of Richie’s jaw to brush his fingertips across Richie’s collarbones. It coaxes an actual sigh out of him and leaves goosebumps lingering on his skin. “You should see your face right now, baby.” </p><p>If Eddie wasn’t holding him up, Richie would be on his knees by now.</p><p>“You’re going to ruin me.”</p><p>Eddie combs his fingers through Richie’s hair, smiling at the satisfied sounds he makes. “You’d let me.”</p><p>The near perfect moment is shattered when a loud knock at the door startles both of them and they jump apart, giggling.</p><p>“Excuse me, you aren’t allowed to be in there together.”</p><p>"We promise we weren’t having sex,” Richie blurts out, as they open the door and hurry past the disapproving employee.</p><p>When Eddie hooks his fingers around one of Richie’s belt loops and leads him around the shop, all Richie can do is hum happily to himself and follow like the good boy he is. In this state, he’d comply with anything. </p><p>Which is why, when Eddie picks up one of the most expensive toys in the store, Richie opens his wallet and hands over his credit card without a word.</p><p>-</p><p>Eddie is flexible.</p><p>When Richie crouches between his legs and spreads him open, Eddie lifts his knees and holds them up next to his shoulders with ease. For a moment, Richie swoons about how impressive that is, then laps his tongue against Eddie’s tight hole.</p><p>Eddie tenses and rolls his hips against Richie’s mouth. “Oh, <em> wow</em>.”</p><p>"Good?" Richie asks, half muffled. He flicks the tip of his tongue around the rim before mouthing and licking fully.</p><p>Eddie moans and squirms under him. "So good, baby." </p><p>Every time he says it, he has Richie's full attention. He chases the warm, tingly feeling it gives him. It urges him to do more and to be better. He licks his thumb and applies just enough pressure to tease him, just enough to get him to grab at the sheets and wordlessly beg for more. He listens carefully to every sigh, every hitch in Eddie’s breath and responds with a different touch, swirl of his tongue, or drag of his lips.</p><p>He has his tongue and one of his fingers almost completely up Eddie’s asshole when Eddie grabs him by the hair and says, “I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>“Okay. Don’t move,” he says, and climbs up the bed to put his glasses on and open the bedside drawer. </p><p>They’re in Richie’s bedroom, which probably isn’t ideal because it hasn’t been cleaned in- well…it just hasn’t been cleaned. </p><p>But, that doesn’t matter because they're together and they’re high on nothing but each other, and that <em> is </em> ideal. He has stayed up way too many nights, letting his mind wander about Eddie’s first time, hoping that Eddie would feel comfortable. It might be stupid to care so much, because this <em> thing </em> between them isn’t actually a thing. Even knowing that, Richie still wants it to be special—he doesn’t want Eddie to look back on it and regret it. </p><p>A few nights ago, when they used the plug for the first time, Eddie admitted that everything felt better with Richie. Days later, Richie is still riding on that high. </p><p>“Hurry up,” Eddie insists, getting comfortable with a pillow under his hips. “Also, you should get naked too. Just a suggestion.”</p><p>“Give me a damn second,” Richie chuckles, rifling through the drawer. He finds the lube and condoms, but the plug is in the box under the bed, having been haphazardly cleaned and put aside. He’s still in his boxers and a t-shirt when he dims the lights and lies down at the head of the bed. He rolls onto his side to give Eddie a kiss, before clumsily opening the lube to wet his fingers. “I want to touch you first.” </p><p>“Here, let me-” Eddie twists at his waist, once again proving his flexibility, and guides Richie’s hand under his thigh and between his legs. He sighs at the touch, already moving down onto Richie’s fingers. When he turns his head for another kiss, he stops and asks, “Do you have your fucking glasses on?”</p><p>Richie circles his fingers around Eddie’s rim and presses one inside, coaxing a quiet gasp from him. “Well, I would like to fucking see you. If that’s alright with you.”</p><p>“I guess that’s- <em> ah</em>, that’s fine.” Eddie lets out a slow exhale and closes his eyes as Richie adds another finger. Once he relaxes around them, he palms his dick and strokes it lazily. “You’re so good at this...god, how often do you do this? You’re so good at it. Like, are you a top usually because wow...”</p><p>How fucking lucky is Richie? To have someone as perfect and beautiful as Eddie falling apart on his fingers, rambling, and trembling is something out of a dream. Eddie's trust is probably the best gift he has ever received.</p><p>“I’ll take what I can get usually,” Richie jokes and kisses Eddie’s shoulder, curling his fingers to hear another moan.</p><p>Eddie opens his eyes, a smirk on his lips. “That’s a really fucking sad way to put it.” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, I know that.” Richie rubs his hard dick against Eddie’s thigh. “Guys usually only want me for my giant dick so I’m rarely on the receiving end.” </p><p>Eddie does this adorable half moan, half laugh and says, “Love how you can stroke your own ego and put yourself down at the same time.”  </p><p>“It’s what I’m good at.” </p><p>Richie removes his fingers and replaces them with the toy, pumping steadily until Eddie loosens up around it. After just a few minutes, Eddie is pushing down onto it and demanding to be fucked. It’s borderline pornographic and as he turns Eddie on his side, he takes a second to thank every possible existing god for this opportunity. He finally takes off his shirt, shimmies out of his boxers before clumsily rolling on the condom (and adding more lube because there can <em> never </em> be enough.) As he slots their bodies together, he smooths a hand down Eddie’s side to cup his hip, and then presses into him slowly. He stops halfway, when Eddie hisses and tenses around him.</p><p>“Okay, babe?”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” Eddie groans. “Just, um- go slow.”</p><p>Richie loves the toned muscle of Eddie's body, the small curve of his ass, and the way his leaking dick curves against his belly. Richie takes it into his hand, stroking in time with each slight movement of his hips. He takes his time, reveling in the feeling of them moving together, before pressing deeper.</p><p>"Oh, <em> fuck.</em>" Eddie reaches back and digs his nails into Richie's thigh and arches his back, twisting further to take him in. Richie keeps his thrusts shallow and follows Eddie’s lead—when he starts grinding back, falling into a comfortable rhythm, Richie knows he’s ready for more.</p><p>“Can I- um, can I turn you over?” he asks, pausing his movements. Eddie just nods and hums, moving easily as Richie turns him over onto his knees and elbows. Richie lifts his hips and fucks into him steadily, practically vibrating with excitement at the new angle. He massages a hand over Eddie's thighs and the base of his spine and Eddie relaxes, starting to whine and rock back against him.</p><p>Embarrassingly, Richie is already close to coming, which means he has even less of a filter. Looking down at Eddie’s face half buried in the pillows and hearing him keen and whimper at every thrust of Richie’s hips is too fucking much. </p><p>“You like that? Is that good? You're just too hot. I can't believe how fucking hot you are, babe. I might explode." </p><p>Eddie sighs and cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. "No offense, but will you shut the fuck up?" </p><p>Richie squeezes Eddie’s ass, still driving into him at a steady pace. "No, I need you to validate me right this second." </p><p>Eddie moans, fisting the sheets. “Your dick feels so good it makes me want to cry. But, god, I wish I could gag you." </p><p>The idea of being forced to shut his mouth has never sounded so appealing. “Don’t tease me.” </p><p>Eddie goes on, moaning breathlessly. "I want to put my fingers in your mouth... so you can shut up and focus on fucking me."</p><p>Richie pulls out, repositions himself into a sitting position against the headboard, and pats his thighs. “I have a seat for you.” </p><p>Eddie doesn’t even comment on Richie’s joke- he straddles his lap, cradling his head for a kiss before he sinks down about halfway onto Richie’s dick. He’s shaking, his strained expression fading into one of awe and then a satisfied smile as he begins to rise up onto his knees before lowering again. </p><p>It's so fucking sexy seeing him like this. Richie loves the weight of him in his lap, the sheen of sweat on his warm, reddened skin, and his kiss-swollen lips. There’s softness in his dark eyes, his hands are strong against Richie’s shoulders, his laugh is breathy when Richie leans in to kiss his chest. </p><p>As promised, Eddie presses three fingers into Richie’s open mouth as he rides leisurely, taking control of the pace and angle. Taking advantage of the fact that Richie can’t speak, Eddie starts rambling, knowing very well the effect it will have.</p><p>“Fuck, this feels so good...your dick is so big- I can’t even take all of it yet. This was <em> so </em> worth waiting 20 years." </p><p>There’s no way Eddie expects him not to respond to that. He speaks up, his voice muffled around Eddie’s fingers. "Yeah, babe?"</p><p>“Fuck, <em> yes</em>.” </p><p>Richie slides his hands up Eddie’s back and pulls him closer, bucking his hips a little harder, a little faster, and with more intensity than before. His head is spinning, his body growing hotter and more tense in a pleasantly familiar way. He sucks at Eddie’s fingers, loving how suppressed his moans sound. He brings a hand between them to grasp Eddie’s dick, noticing the way he’s trembling, and clenching around him. </p><p>“Close,” he chokes out, finally slipping his fingers out of Richie’s mouth. He catches Richie’s lips in a messy kiss and within seconds, he’s coming into Richie’s palm. Still shaking, he drags a hand through Richie’s hair, curls his fingers into a fist, and tugs. He circles his hips, trails his tongue along the exposed column of Richie’s throat, and rasps, “You’re so good, baby.”</p><p>Richie comes so hard he swears he sees Jesus Christ himself.</p><p>For a while, they just sit there and hold each other. Eddie seems to be content with doing it forever but Richie, in true fashion, can't fucking sit still. Also, there's come drying on him.</p><p>“We should take a shower,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck.</p><p>To which Eddie replies: “I really like when you call me babe.”</p><p>And, honestly, he never should have told Richie that because Richie might not ever call him by his name again.</p><p>-</p><p>Sitting in the grass in Eddie’s backyard, day drinking, and having an in depth discussion about roleplay wasn’t on Richie’s agenda. But, when he looks over at Eddie’s warm smile, he can’t imagine spending his Saturday any other way. </p><p>“I don’t get the firefighter thing, man. When did we collectively decide they’re sexy? I don’t think they’re sexy in any inherent way,” Eddie is saying, bringing the beer bottle to his lips. He’s tipsy, and seems to have a deep-seated personal issue with occupational roleplay. “Where does it end? Sexy chef? Sexy janitor? Sexy concession stand worker?”</p><p>Richie just sits there and beams at him. “You sound overly invested in this.”</p><p>Eddie laughs. “I’m not! It’s just fucking weird. Do you not think it’s weird?”</p><p>“It’s hilarious to me, which doesn’t say much because you know what I think is funny.”</p><p>“So, you agree? It’s not sexy.”</p><p>Grinning, Richie asks, “What if I dressed up for you?”</p><p>“What, like in a <em>sexy construction</em> <em>worker</em> costume? No thanks.” Eddie giggles, yes a literal giggle. “Or, like, a leather bondage kind of thing? I’m not opposed to lace, but I’m not sure it would add anything extra, you know?”</p><p>“You liked those demon latex shorts,” Richie reminds him. “Well, until we had to destroy them to get them off my body.”</p><p>“Fuck those shorts,” Eddie mutters, then adds: “Did make your ass look amazing though.”</p><p>“What about a full biker outfit? Oh, or a cowboy thing! Black leather thong, ass-less chaps, cowboy hat. The works. You wouldn’t be able to resist me.”</p><p>“I don’t know...I don’t think I need costumes and lingerie to get excited about having sex with you,” Eddie says, repositioning himself to lay his legs across Richie’s lap. “I just like you.”</p><p>If there are butterflies in Richie’s stomach, they are completely unrelated to what Eddie just said. He cups Eddie’s cheek and brings him in for a kiss, tasting the bitter beer on his lips. “I like you too.”</p><p>And, because he can’t just leave that hanging in the air between them, he adds:</p><p>“You do know I’m a fucking mess, right?”</p><p>Eddie shrugs. "I'm a mess too. But, at least we’re both messes who pay people to listen to our problems." </p><p>Richie takes a long drink and says, "Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”</p><p>"I don’t think so. I think you're fun to be around,” Eddie says, with a smirk. He knows compliments like this make Richie squirm.</p><p>"A shit storm,” Richie drones. “Like a port-a-potty in a hurricane. Really funny to watch from far away, but not so much up close." </p><p>Eddie nudges his knee into Richie’s side. "You can't take a fucking compliment can you?"</p><p>"Nope." </p><p>“Well, you know what…” Eddie sets his bottle aside, gets up, and crawls over to wrap his arms around Richie’s shoulders from behind. He places his lips against Richie’s ear and says, "I think you're funny, and smart, and really fucking clever. You have great hair, a beautiful smile, and a handsome face. I love how you laugh at your own jokes, especially when you know they’re really stupid…You’re sweeter than you think you are, and you...you make me feel-” </p><p>“Horny?” Richie finishes, enveloping Eddie’s hands with his. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for.”</p><p>Eddie flicks Richie’s earlobe. “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to say nice things and you’re making it hard.” </p><p>“I’m making you hard?” </p><p>Eddie pulls back and looks at him, eyes narrowed and lips curling into a smile. “I will fuck you up.” </p><p>“I’d absolutely let you and you know this,” Richie tells him, completely serious.</p><p>“I’m literally going to murder you with my bare hands,” Eddie says softly, pulling his hands through Richie’s hair.</p><p>“If that's how I'm meant to go, I'll accept it.” Richie leans his head back and motions to his neck. “Do your worst, little man.”</p><p>“<em>Little</em>?!” Eddie returns to Richie’s side and clamps a hand around his jaw, squeezing his cheeks. “Shut your goddamn mouth.” </p><p>“<em>Babe</em>,” he coos, “you already know what I’m going to say.” </p><p>“Too bad.” Eddie lets him go and attempts to crawl away. “I am not playing this game.” </p><p>“I’ll never shut up.” Richie grabs his wrist and pulls him back in, trying to catch his lips in a kiss. “You’ll have to put me in my place.” </p><p>Laughing, Eddie dodges the kiss and swats him on the chest. “How does anyone tolerate you?” </p><p>Richie grins. “They don’t. People have hated me since adolescence." </p><p>"You were a bully's wet dream weren't you?" Eddie relaxes at Richie’s side, snaking an arm around his waist. </p><p>"I vaguely remember getting the shit kicked out of me when I was a kid and I probably deserved it.”</p><p>Eddie frowns. “Even if you were as annoying as you are now, you still didn’t deserve that.”</p><p>“No, I definitely did.” Richie licks his finger and sticks it directly into Eddie’s ear. Eddie literally shrieks, once again trying to make his escape, and Richie wraps both arms around him to keep him in place. “Nope, you said you liked me. You’re stuck with me now.”</p><p>“What’s <em> wrong </em> with you?” Eddie laughs wildly, trying to wrench himself out of Richie’s grasp. “I was only half kidding when I said you’re into punishment, but seriously, do you want me to hit you? Is that what this is?” </p><p>“I don’t know, maybe?” Richie is fucking buzzing just thinking about it. No one has ever <em> asked </em> to hit him. Especially not in a playful, sexy way.</p><p>Still laughing, Eddie gets to his knees and straddles Richie’s lap. Richie sits up, pressing a kiss against Eddie’s teeth.</p><p>Eddie is still smiling wide, his eyes shining when he asks: “What if I slapped you right now?” </p><p>Richie blinks, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “I would not be opposed.” </p><p>An excruciating minute passes in which Eddie looks like he’s considering it. Then, the moment is shattered when Eddie giggles and says: “You’re a freak.” </p><p>“Oh, c’mon don’t tease me like that, I got all excited!” </p><p>“I am not going to enable you, Richie." Eddie climbs off of Richie’s lap and lies down on his side. “Come here.”</p><p>“Fine, fine. I’ll drop it,” Richie says, joining him.</p><p>When Eddie pulls him in for a kiss, Richie bites the tip of his nose instead.</p><p>“Ow, what the fuck? You know what-” Eddie reaches out and gives Richie a full, sharp smack on the cheek. “There’s your slap, you freak.”</p><p>The sting fades into a pleasurable vibration. “Now, you know I liked that.”</p><p>“Oh, I know you did.” Eddie rubs a soothing thumb against Richie’s cheek, smiling wide. “I don’t know what I just got myself into.”</p><p>“Some deep shit, that’s for sure.” Richie laughs, teasing a hand at Eddie’s waist. “You don’t have to do it again. I have wank bank material until the end of time.”</p><p>“Don’t jump the gun just yet. We’ll see about it,” Eddie chuckles, shifting closer to give him a kiss. "I have so much fun with you. You make me feel good. I hope. . . I just hope I make you feel good too."</p><p>Laying here in the sun, tipsy, playing around like this makes him feel like they’re young. Like they’re just kids who fucked around and fell into something bigger or more profound than what they intended. It gives him a particular rush that he’s never felt before.</p><p>When Eddie puts an arm around Richie and kisses his forehead, it doesn’t feel as difficult to stay in his embrace. </p><p>-</p><p>Richie is terrified.</p><p>And, maybe, terrified is a strong word but there's no other way to explain the way his heart is pounding. </p><p>Eddie sits in front of him on the bed, half naked, his hands resting on Richie's knees. "You're hot. I've told you like a million times."</p><p>“It’s an illusion," Richie says, hugging his chest. "Once I take this shirt off, it’s all flab. It’s what happens when you stop doing drugs but keep drinking.” </p><p>"Richie," Eddie says softly. "Is this just about your body? Or is it something else?"</p><p>This isn't about his body. It never has been. Richie wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain why he's curled into himself like a scared child. The worst part about it all is that he'd have to be honest—he'd have to tell Eddie that the last time he bottomed, he was black out drunk and woke up with a man on top of him. He would have to figure out how to explain that in his head, being open and letting go in this very specific way still directly equates to being taken advantage of. He would have to explain that he let awful shit happen to him for so long while fucked up on coke, pills, and alcohol, that now that he's sober, there are still some things that trigger his broken fight or flight response. He would probably have to cry and let himself be vulnerable in a way he's never fucking been before. </p><p>"I-...yes and no."</p><p>Eddie, the fucking perfect sweetheart when he wants to be, crawls to the head of the bed and positions himself behind Richie. He slips his hands under the hem of Richie's shirt, tracing circles on his lower back. "I love your body." </p><p>"I know," Richie mumbles, sighing at the gentle touch. "I know you do."</p><p>"I love your back... and your shoulders, and your chest." Eddie touches him slowly, moving his hands over each body part without taking Richie's shirt off. When he gets to Richie's stomach, Richie tenses up and stops him.</p><p>It's ridiculous. He feels so fucking <em> stupid</em> —he’s 35 years old and dealing with bullshit he thought would never be a problem for him. And it doesn't make sense. He <em> trusts </em> Eddie. He's <em> sober</em>. They've touched and fucked and this shouldn't feel any different, just because Eddie wants to top. It shouldn't feel like he's giving himself away. But, there's something about that touch paired with the trepidation of going slow, letting go, and letting someone else open him up and take him. It makes him sick to his stomach. </p><p>"Are you okay?" Eddie tucks his chin over Richie's shoulder, pulling him into his chest. “You seem nervous." </p><p>“I’m fine.” Richie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on Eddie's embrace. "I'm good."</p><p>“Are you sure?" Eddie holds him tighter, probably sensing how much Richie needs it. "It's okay if you're nervous. I am too.” </p><p>Instead of an eloquent explanation for his nervousness, Richie says: “I might throw up?” </p><p>Eddie immediately lets him go, crawling back around to sit in front of him. “We can stop.” </p><p>“I don’t want to stop. I like you touching me.” </p><p>"<em>Richie</em>," he says, and Richie really hates how he's saying it. He takes Richie's hands in his, brushing his thumbs over the knuckles. “You literally just said you might throw up." </p><p>Richie's pulse races-—he can feel it pounding against Eddie's palm. He stares at their hands, his mouth going dry. “It’s just- it’s been a while since I… it’s different, you know? I was-... something happened and I- it’s just different now.” </p><p>When he glances up, Eddie is giving him an earnest, heavy-hearted look.</p><p>There’s a part of Richie that worries that he’s disappointing Eddie with all of this <em> baggage</em>, and it makes him want to move past it in any way. “I trust you though.”</p><p>"I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t yet. I know how hard it is to open up after… such a long period of not feeling like you’re in control.” </p><p>And, fuck, now there's a lump in Richie's throat and his lip is trembling. This is the fucking worst. He hates this. He hates how Eddie is looking at him, sad and sympathetic. He hates that he has lied so well about his issues up until this point. He hates that the second he was confronted with them, everything came rushing back, and now it feels like being run over by a fucking truck. </p><p>Richie hates, more than anything, that his voice breaks when he speaks. “It’s really fucking difficult.” </p><p>"I know. I understand." Eddie lies down, tugging Richie down with him. “It’s fine, I promise. Let’s just relax."</p><p>Eddie trails his fingertips up and down Richie's arm, then leans in to kiss his temple, his cheek, and finally his lips. He presses them closer and Richie lets him smooth a hand down his side, lower and lower, until it's resting on his hip. They kiss deeper, slower, and Eddie's hand slides under his t-shirt again, pulling away from the kiss just enough to ask if it's okay. Richie nods, and Eddie keeps his hand still against Richie's belly as he kisses along his jawline, dipping lower to kiss his neck. He brings his other hand to Richie’s cheek, soft and barely there. </p><p>"I do want you," Richie says, leaning into the touch. "I don't want you to think I don't."</p><p>Eddie brushes his thumb over Richie’s lips. "Of course I don't think that." </p><p>Richie opens his eyes, dropping his gaze to Eddie’s hand. "I wouldn't want this with anyone else. I feel good with you. I'm just…" </p><p>"I know." Eddie pauses and gives him a long look.  “Would it help if I tell you how much I want to make you feel good?”</p><p>"Tell me,” Richie says. </p><p>"I've thought about it a lot.” Eddie blushes and presses their foreheads together, massaging his fingers behind Richie’s ear and through his hair as he speaks. “How you would look and sound... I want to hear you, I want to know how much you like it. I want you to look at me and tell me what you need. I want <em> you </em> to feel good." </p><p>Richie relaxes into the touch and Eddie responds by moving his hand up the center of Richie’s chest. His heart is racing as he takes off his shirt, but Eddie touches him gently, stroking up and down his chest, rubbing his shoulders, and reaching around to caress his back. </p><p>No one has ever touched him like Eddie does. No one has ever been as sweet or gentle. No one has cared about what he needed or wanted. Richie looks into his eyes, and just fucking melts in his hands. </p><p>"Is it okay if I kiss you more?" he asks, his hand on Richie’s hip.</p><p>"Yeah, of course,” Richie tells him. If anything, Eddie’s lips are the only fucking things anchoring him.</p><p>Eddie guides Richie onto his back and kisses him full and deep before straddling his lap. With both hands squeezing Richie’s pecs, he places supple kisses against his nipples, flicking his tongue and mouthing gently at the dip in the center of his bare chest. He moves up to kiss Richie's collarbones and sucks marks into his neck. </p><p>A whine escapes him and he literally shivers, reaching up to dig his nails into Eddie’s shoulders.</p><p>"That is so sexy," he says, into Richie's heated skin. "I love how you react when I touch you." </p><p>He rolls his hips, making it known how hard he's getting, and Richie groans at the friction. </p><p>Eddie sits up and climbs off of Richie's lap, hooking his fingers over the waistband of Richie's boxers. "Can I?"</p><p>"<em>Please</em>."</p><p>It’s familiar and comfortable having Eddie between his legs, going down on him. He always gives 100 percent, as if Richie would kick him out of bed for anything less than a stellar blowjob. His hand cups Richie’s ass, his fingers teasing between his thighs.</p><p>"Do you want me to touch you?" he asks, spreading Richie’s legs with his knees. </p><p>"Yes." </p><p>Eddie’s fingers are slick and cold, a little clumsy as he rubs around Richie’s rim before pressing one inside. Richie hisses, feeling himself clench around it, and exhales. </p><p>"Tell me what you're thinking about, baby." </p><p>Hearing that as Eddie is touching him like this makes his head spin. It’s like being held in a different way. It grounds him, helps him focus on what Eddie is doing. Richie whimpers—every slight curl of Eddie’s finger causes the pit of desire in him to grow hotter and stronger.</p><p>“About you,” Richie chokes out. He takes his dick in his hand, so hard it’s nearly fucking throbbing, as Eddie adds another finger. “I like it. It feels good.”</p><p>“Good.” Eddie curls and thrusts his fingers steadily, until Richie relaxes around them. Then, he sits up, one hand down the front of his boxers. "What do you want, baby?"</p><p>"I want you," Richie assures him. His desire to have Eddie on top of him, filling him up, outweighs the lingering fear in the back of his mind.</p><p>"Okay," Eddie says and places a kiss on Richie's knee. He leaves for a moment, and comes back naked, rolling on a condom. He kneels between Richie’s thighs, massaging his hands into the soft flesh. “Just tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”</p><p>When Eddie sinks into him, Richie almost loses it. His breathing goes ragged and harsh, and he tenses, squeezing his eyes shut. But Eddie brings him back with a hand on his cheek. </p><p>“Look at me, baby. I'm here." </p><p>Richie remembers where he is. He's with Eddie, and he wouldn't want it any other way. Still, tears blur his vision and he moves quickly to wipe them away. “I’m okay, I promise.”</p><p>Eddie kisses Richie's wet cheeks and whispers, "It's okay, you're okay." </p><p>Richie can hear his pulse pounding in his ears and for a second, he thinks it’s panic. But as Eddie starts to rock into him, pleasure builds and erupts like little fires starting under his skin. He arches his back, moaning so full and low that he feels it vibrate through his entire body. Eddie lies on top of him completely, having to crane his neck a bit to bring their lips together in a kiss. His weight is a heavy and comfortable pressure. Richie writhes beneath him, feeling his dick slide against the hard muscle of Eddie’s abs. </p><p>Eddie’s lips never leave his—they kiss with such fervor that Richie begins to tremble. He drags his nails down Eddie’s back and Eddie bites down on his lip, chasing after the sting with his tongue. </p><p>“Talk to me,” Eddie breathes into Richie’s gaping, kiss-swollen mouth. </p><p>And Richie almost says something really fucking stupid. He grabs his dick, attempting to collect his thoughts as Eddie props up onto his forearms and drives into harder, and says, “I love how you feel on top of me- inside of me. Fuck, you feel so good. I-”</p><p>“You’re gonna come for me?”</p><p>Richie’s hand finds the nape of Eddie’s neck and grasps him there, feeling his orgasm build quickly. He has to bite his tongue to keep all the impulsive, inappropriate shit from falling out of his mouth. He gazes into Eddie’s eyes, focuses on him, his rough breathing, and rapid heartbeat, and lets go. </p><p>“Oh, fuck, <em>babe</em>.”</p><p>Eddie slows his movements, mindful of Richie being overstimulated, and comes soon after with a quiet cry against Richie’s lips. He collapses onto Richie’s chest and Richie holds him there until their breathing evens out. </p><p>Richie is still blissfully dazed when Eddie gets up and rolls out of bed. He holds out a hand and Eddie helps him up, pulling him into another warm embrace. Richie closes his eyes, feeling Eddie’s smile against his chest.</p><p>-</p><p>“That is disgusting. I’m never kissing you again.”</p><p>Eddie kicks his foot out of Richie’s grasp and nearly knocks the glasses off his face.</p><p>“It’s <em> your </em> foot,” Richie laughs, adjusting his glasses.</p><p>“So? If I had known you had a foot fetish, I never would have knocked on your door.” Eddie sits up, attempting to tuck his feet under the bunched up blanket. “Leave my feet alone, you goddamn freak.”</p><p>Richie catches both of Eddie’s ankles and kisses the tops of his feet. “I don’t have a foot fetish. I have a <em> you </em> fetish.”</p><p>When Eddie snatches his feet away again, his toes narrowly avoid hitting Richie in the chin. “That’s it, I’m kicking you out.”</p><p>"You'd never." Richie crawls up the bed and practically smothers Eddie with his body. Eddie doesn’t protest, he just smiles and wiggles his arms out to wrap around Richie’s waist. </p><p>Even without sex or alcohol, cuddling has gotten easier for Richie. After weeks, it finally clicked that Eddie had never asked or expected him to be completely still or quiet all the time. Even if he taps his fingers incessantly against Eddie’s skin, and talks for twenty minutes straight about the logistics of penis pumps, Eddie doesn’t mind. The ridiculous standards that he set for himself seem even more ridiculous when Eddie is sitting silently, with a smile in his eyes, as Richie rambles about nonsense. Eddie doesn’t expect him to be anyone but himself—he’ll roll his eyes and call Richie a fucking idiot, but he’ll just as soon reach for his hand or kiss his forehead. It feels natural, like they just <em> fit </em> together. Like it’s where they’re meant to be.</p><p>And, maybe, Richie realizes now that this <em> thing </em> they have is more of a thing than he initially thought it was. </p><p>Eddie’s phone rings on the bedside table and instead of letting him up, Richie grabs the phone and hands it to him. </p><p>“Hello?” he answers, still grinning up at Richie. </p><p>There’s a faint voice on the other end, but Richie can’t decipher any of the words. What he does notice is that Eddie has stopped smiling. After a few seconds, he hangs up the phone and all but throws it across the room. </p><p>“Who was that?” Richie asks, rolling over to lay at his side.</p><p>“Wrong number,” Eddie says, his tone clipped. He takes Richie’s hand, squeezing unusually hard. </p><p>Richie searches Eddie’s stony expression and finds nothing at all. This man may have an award winning poker face, but he’s cutting off the circulation in Richie’s hand.</p><p>From somewhere on the floor, Eddie’s phone begins to ring again. </p><p>“Do you want to…?” Richie sits up, pulling out of Eddie’s grasp. “I can leave the room if you want.”</p><p>Eddie gets out of bed with a huff, picks up his phone from where it landed in the corner, and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.</p><p>Richie, because he’s a nosy bastard, gets up and cracks the door. He stands close by, straining to hear Eddie’s conversation from down the hall.</p><p>"You're not supposed to contact me…How did you even get this number?...No...No, I’m not doing this with you... No, you fucking listen to <em> me</em>. I could report you to the police… I don’t- listen, I don’t care!...This is the whole reason we-...Why are you doing this? I'm trying to have a normal life for the first time ever and I will not let you fuck it up... I don't care who you tell! Tell everyone, I don’t give a shit... I don't- this is over....Don't call me again." </p><p>As Eddie’s footsteps approach, Richie shuts the door and goes back to the bed. Eddie steps into the room soon after, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He drops onto the edge of the bed and sighs.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Richie places a tentative hand on Eddie's back.</p><p>Eddie takes a deep, shaky breath and hides his face with his hand. "No."</p><p>Before Richie can come up with anything remotely helpful, Eddie stands up and shuts himself into the bathroom. Richie follows close behind, running on pure instinct, but stops when the lock clicks. His uneasiness only grows when he hears Eddie retching through the door. </p><p>“Hey.” He starts to knock, but thinks better of it and takes a seat next to door instead. Inside, the toilet flushes and the faucet begins to run.</p><p>Finally, after what feels like forever, Eddie’s voice comes through the door. </p><p>“That was my ex-wife.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Richie says, because what else can he say? He’s never been known to be the most eloquent or sensitive. The only thing he knows how to do is say stupid shit, hoping Eddie will smile or laugh. “I know you don’t like talking about it.”  </p><p>“It’s fine...I mean, it’s not. But-” Eddie clears his throat, taking a minute to speak again. “I guess someone she knew saw me on your podcast and sent it to her. She’s threatening to show everyone because she thinks it’ll make me look bad.” </p><p>Richie chuckles dryly. “Well, she isn’t wrong. Anyone who willingly participates in my show or associates with me looks bad.”</p><p>It’s a relief when Eddie’s soft laughter comes through the door. “Maybe you’re right.”</p><p>“And if she tells everyone, that’s free publicity, right?” Richie says. It doesn’t feel right talking to him like this, where he can’t touch him or see his face. Reading the room is hard for him under normal circumstances—this makes it ten times harder. “I could make you a regular guest. People love you, by the way. I don’t know if I mentioned that.”</p><p>“You did,” Eddie replies. “About 100 times.”</p><p>Richie can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice, so he goes on doing the only thing he’s good at.</p><p>“If you wanna get real weird with it, we can invite her to call in. Or is that too Dr. Phil for your taste?”</p><p>And he’s met with complete silence, so he scrambles to apologize.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. I don’t know how to be serious...Are you okay? Really?” </p><p>“I’ll be okay,” Eddie says. “This fucking sucks, but I’ll be okay. I’ve gotten through worse.”</p><p>Unfortunately, Richie knows that feeling all too well. Dealing with awful shit, but tricking yourself into thinking you’re fine because you’ve dealt with much worse is a talent. “Are you sure?” </p><p>The bathroom door opens then, just a few inches, and Eddie’s trembling hand appears. Richie laces their fingers together and places his other hand on top, holding him still.</p><p>-</p><p>A week later, a bubble mailer with Eddie’s name on it accidentally gets delivered to Richie’s house. </p><p>When he sees the name and the return address, he goes right over to Eddie’s house. The door is open (because Eddie knows that Richie <em> loves </em> to come over unannounced) and Eddie is in the kitchen, struggling with a wok full of vegetables.</p><p>“Hey, look who’s up before 1 PM on a Saturday,” Eddie teases. He gives Richie a quick kiss on the cheek before returning to his burning broccoli. “What’s in the envelope?”</p><p>“Um,” Richie says. “It’s for you. I mean, it was in my mailbox but it’s your mail.”</p><p>Eddie picks up the pan and starts scraping it with a wooden spoon, a full scowl on his face. “Oh, weird. Junk mail?”</p><p>“It’s from a, um…Myra Kaspbrak.”</p><p>The wooden spoon slips out of Eddie’s hand and the pan he’s holding clatters to the stove-top, spilling food on the lit burner. “What?”</p><p>Richie hands him the envelope, in lieu of repeating himself. </p><p>Before he even opens it, Eddie is halfway to falling apart. </p><p>“Oh, fuck her,” he says, breathing hard through his clenched teeth. “This is so fucked up.”</p><p>“What is it?” Richie asks, his hands going clammy. “It’s not a fucking severed finger or something, is it? Is she that insane? You didn’t tell me she was that insane-”</p><p>“It’s her fucking rings,” Eddie chokes out. His breathing is labored and his hands are trembling. “The, um, engagement ring... and the wedding band.”</p><p>For a few minutes, they stand in the kitchen without a word. Eddie stares in the envelope, frozen other than his increasingly shaky hands. Richie watches, wishing he weren’t so fucking useless.</p><p>“How did she get your address?”</p><p>“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie drops the envelope onto the counter and seems to suddenly remember that the stove is still on. He turns off the burner, picks up the pan and throws it into the sink. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, turning on the water. “She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly what she’s fucking doing. She knew that-”</p><p>Eddie turns the water off and drags his hands over his face. “Oh, <em> fuck</em>, I’m-”</p><p>Richie reaches for him and Eddie flinches away, bending to pick up the wooden spoon from the floor. He drops the spoon into the burnt pan, opens the cupboard under the sink, and takes out a spray bottle. </p><p>“When I told her I wanted to end things, she made such a fucking big deal out of giving the rings back.” He keeps his eyes on the stove top as he sprays furiously, his voice more constricted and his breath strained as he speaks. “I told her I didn’t want them. She said she wanted our future daughter to have them and that she was never going to remarry so she was never going to have a daughter....and she did this whole thing where she cried and tried to guilt trip me about taking away her only chance to be a mother. Then- then she- she-”</p><p>“Eddie,” Richie says softly, hoping he comes through at least a little. Eddie doesn’t even look at him. It’s like he’s not even there, and it’s fucking terrifying. </p><p>“And then- she called me-” Eddie is shaking so violently at this point that the spray bottle slips out of his hand and falls to the floor. He puts a hand to his chest and steps back, collapsing into the refrigerator. He squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on his fist, attempting to take a breath. The breath gets caught in his throat and he stutters out, through his fingers, “She called me a faggot and she- she told me I- I was n-never going to have kids either s-so I m-might as well j-just pawn the rings and get my m-money back. And right after this, I- <em> fuck</em>... this was right before I…”</p><p>Eddie stops. He puts his fists against his eye sockets and lets out a slow breath. Richie gives him space, unsure what else to do. Unsure what to think. Unsure what to <em> feel</em> . He’s caught between concern and irrational protectiveness. He’s literally worried sick, his stomach churning uncomfortably and threatening to eject everything he’s eaten in the last twelve hours. But more than that, he’s fucking <em> angry </em> that someone could do something to deliberately hurt Eddie. </p><p>“I almost s-stayed because I wanted what she w-wanted,” Eddie continues, still hyperventilating. He turns and presses his forehead to the refrigerator. “I w-wanted, like, a n-normal life. I wanted kids...I wanted all of that. But, she was so- it wasn’t right with her but I thought- I thought I wouldn’t be able to start over. I thought I was s-stuck. So, I- I- <em> fuck</em>.” </p><p>“Eddie.” Richie places a hand on the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie flinches again, moving away from his touch.</p><p>“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, finally turning to meet Richie’s gaze. There are tears in his eyes and his face is beet red. “You don’t have to stay. I’m-... fucked up.” </p><p>Richie holds out his hand, hoping the small gesture can anchor him. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”</p><p>Eddie nods and steps into Richie’s chest, resting his head against his shoulder. Richie holds him, squeezing so tight it probably hurts. Eddie relaxes against him—his breathing slows and his grip on Richie’s waist loosens.</p><p>“I would absolutely carry your babies if I could,” Richie says into Eddie’s hair. “Though you probably wouldn’t want any of my fucked up offspring. Could you imagine a toddler version of me? Or <em> two</em>? Chaos.” </p><p>Eddie laughs wetly into Richie’s shirt. "You'd be a good dad." </p><p>It gives Richie such an overwhelming warm, fuzzy feeling that he has no choice but to blurt out the first thing that pops into his shit brain.</p><p>“Do you want to have sex? I can’t get pregnant but we could try really hard if you want.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Eddie looks up at him, puffy-eyed but smiling. “You’d carry our children for nine whole months?” </p><p>Richie shrugs. “Yeah, for sure. Knock me up, I don’t care. I’ve done worse things to my body.” </p><p>And, honestly, <em> what the fuck </em> is Richie feeling right now? Why the fuck does he suddenly want a white picket fence and 2.5 kids? Why does he start to swoon at the idea of getting married and arguing over whether they should buy an air fryer?</p><p>Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, pressing his face back into Richie’s chest. </p><p>“Do you... want me to keep squeezing you?” Richie asks, trying to block out the intrusive thought of getting down on one knee.</p><p>“Please,” Eddie sighs, holding on tighter. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”</p><p>-</p><p>Richie opens the door to his balcony, letting in the moonlight and the cool night air. He takes off his glasses and climbs back into bed, pulling the sheet over his bare legs. </p><p>Eddie yawns, rolling onto his side to face Richie. The sight of him now, half-lidded, well-fucked, and illuminated by the dim, white moonlight is a true gift.</p><p>“It’ll get cold if you leave that open,” he says, pushing the hair off of Richie’s forehead.</p><p>“It’ll get hot if I leave it closed,” Richie says, leaning in to give him a kiss.</p><p>“Because you’re like a human heater,” Eddie replies, dropping his hand to Richie’s chest. He traces lines along his collarbones. “I wake up next to you and I’m on fire.”</p><p>“You should be fine if you get cold then.”</p><p>Eddie sighs and says, “Alright, don't complain if I drool on you.”</p><p>"You know I wouldn't." Richie gives him another kiss and adds: "I like sharing a bed with you. Even if you drool."</p><p>They had only slept in the same bed and stayed the whole night a handful of times, usually by accident. But, last week when Eddie came to Richie's door at 2 AM, saying he had a nightmare and couldn't sleep, Richie just took him upstairs and made room in his bed. Now, nothing else feels right.</p><p>Eddie pulls back from the kiss and instead of turning over to be the little spoon or 'forcing' Richie to be the little spoon, he stops and gives Richie a contemplative look. </p><p>"What?" Richie asks, pulling the sheet up higher. It's already getting colder in the room but he'll never admit it.</p><p>“If we’re going to keep hanging out, I need to tell you something.” </p><p>“You’re part of the witness protection program?” Richie guesses. “You’re a prince from some obscure European country? You have a secret family in Canada?” </p><p>Eddie smiles, almost instinctively, but bites it back immediately. “I tried to kill myself last year.” </p><p>Richie blinks and exclaims: “No way, dude! Me too! We’re a match made in heaven.” </p><p>“That we’re both so fucked up that we attempted suicide within the same year?” Eddie chuckles. “It’s both alarming and admirable that you can make anything into a joke.”</p><p>“If I don’t laugh at myself, I’ll cry,” Richie admits. “And if I don’t make a joke about things that make me uncomfortable, I’ll literally throw up, so…”</p><p>“That’s valid,” Eddie says. “Probably not healthy, but valid.” </p><p>The silence between them lasts a second too long and Richie’s heart begins to race so, naturally, he says something else stupid. “I actually tried twice last year, so you know. Three, if you count the overdose. I’m such a failure I couldn’t even succeed at killing myself.” </p><p>Eddie doesn’t take the bait for Richie’s stupid, self-deprecating joke. Instead he asks, rather bluntly: “What happened the last time?” </p><p>It throws Richie for a complete loop. It’s not something he talks about with most people. Not even with his closest friends—he brushes them off with funny anecdotes about having a broken brain and they leave him alone. Then, he cries to his therapist about it and leaves it in that room until his next session.</p><p>“Um, well, you know how after you do a bunch of coke or speed, you crash really hard?” Richie asks. He’s definitely condensing the story, but there’s no way he could ever talk in depth about any of his suicide attempts without spiraling. “And then when you crash, you’re in the worst depression of your fucking life? Imagine a sugar crash on steroids.” </p><p>Eddie nods. “Right.” </p><p>“Okay well, uh, that’s what happened.” Richie pauses to clear his throat and averts his eyes from Eddie’s intense gaze. “I um, got some rope, strung it up in my garage... but, I guess I underestimated my weight, so the beam snapped...and, I fractured my elbow on the way down.” </p><p>“That’s fucked up.” </p><p>Richie laughs, wryly. "You know what the worst part was? The cast made it almost impossible for me to jack off with my right hand. That almost made me wanna try to kill myself again." </p><p>When Eddie laughs, it’s hesitant. Richie looks at him, and can only make out a vague sad expression.</p><p>"I broke my right arm when I was younger,” he says. “I don't even remember how I broke it. But, now that I think of it, I do remember jacking off with my left hand." </p><p>"Innovative. Groundbreaking. Inspiring.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Eddie says, smiling briefly. He takes a deep breath and chews his thumbnail. “So, um… it’s just really fucking weird to talk about. My suicide attempt, I mean. I guess I just wanted to tell you because it felt even weirder to hide it.”</p><p>“What happened?” Richie asks. Immediately noticing how Eddie tenses at the question, he adds: “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it could be... cathartic?” </p><p>“Or traumatic.” </p><p>“Sometimes that’s the same thing.” </p><p>Eddie smiles, and holds out his wrists. Even in the dim lighting and through Richie's shitty vision, the scars are prominent. “That’s it. Not much story there.” </p><p>“I mean, obviously I noticed them,” Richie says, his stomach lurching. “I just don’t know how to be appropriate about anything, so I kept my mouth shut for once.” </p><p>Eddie sighs. “Thanks for not asking about them, I guess. Joking about your <em> own </em> suicide attempt is one thing, right?” </p><p>Richie grabs his glasses from the bedside table and puts them on. He settles back into bed and takes both of Eddie’s hands. "Can I do something that's probably super cheesy?" </p><p>"Oh, you're asking now?"</p><p>“I am...so, if you hate it or if you think it’s stupid, please tell me,” Richie says. He traces his thumbs along the length of the scars, right up to the middle of his arm. Then, he brings Eddie’s wrists to his lips and kisses both of them.</p><p>“Oh,” Eddie breathes, so quiet that Richie almost misses it.</p><p>“Was that stupid?”</p><p>“I- um-” Eddie’s expression gets all pinched and he chokes out a sob. “Oh, no.”</p><p>“Oh fuck, don’t do that or I’ll do it too,” Richie says, already tearing up.</p><p>“Please don’t,” Eddie squeaks, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Then I’ll feel like a dick for making you cry.” </p><p>Richie wipes the tears from Eddie’s face and Eddie returns the favor. </p><p>“I, uh, I had a friend who died that same way…by cutting himself.” Richie tries to hold back his tears but the second he looks at Eddie, he starts to cry again. “I guess I never let myself think about it much before. It's a really gnarly way to go I've heard...and I think about the place you have to be in to do something like that. And, I mean, someone could say the same thing about hanging yourself or taking pills or plugging your car exhaust. But there’s something so...violent about cutting yourself? And I can’t imagine- I didn’t <em> want </em> to imagine that you could- that you would do something like that. Or, that you would ever be so low that you’d want to.” </p><p>Again, Eddie reaches out to wipe Richie’s tears, then swipes a hand over his own face to manage his.</p><p>"I had always thought that if I was going to do it, I would have taken a bunch of pills or something. But, something about that freaked me out? Like, what if it didn't work?" he says, shakily. "There's a part of me that thinks I did it this way because… I wanted her to find me. That sounds so fucked up when I say it out loud, but maybe I just wanted it to be clear what my intent was. I didn't want it to look like an accident. I wanted her to know that if she wouldn’t let me leave, then this was my only way-” </p><p>Eddie drags a rough hand over his face and sobs. Richie pulls him in close, wishing he could wrap him up even tighter. He whispers apologies into Eddie’s neck—he’s sorry for what Eddie has been through, sorry that he can’t be more helpful, and as silly as it is, he’s sorry that they didn’t meet sooner. Maybe if they had, things would be different. Maybe, in some alternate universe, all the bullshit they’ve gone through in this life never happened. But maybe if things were different, they wouldn’t be here now.</p><p>And really, the only reason why all of this existential shit is in his head is because his guard is completely down for the first time ever. </p><p>“Got my snot on you.” Eddie sniffles and pulls out of Richie’s embrace.  “Worse than drool, I think.”</p><p>Richie smirks. "It’s fine. But, am I an ugly crier or what?"</p><p>“Oh, you’re hideous. The worst.” Eddie sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you hungry?”</p><p>“Totally.” Richie kicks the sheets off his legs and joins him. “Crying really works up an appetite.”</p><p>They head downstairs to the kitchen in their boxers, hand-in-hand. Richie takes out the entire carton of rocky road and opens it, even though it’s frozen solid. Eddie finds a spoon, sits on the counter next to the carton, and spears the spoon into the middle of the ice cream. After muscling out a spoonful, he holds it in front of Richie’s face. </p><p>"For you."</p><p>Richie slots himself between Eddie's knees, sliding both hands up his bare thighs, and accepts the bite. “Thank you, my love.”</p><p><em> My love</em>. It just sort of slips out, the way things tend to do with Richie. It makes his heart skip a beat, but it also scares the shit out of him.</p><p>But, Eddie just grins and jams the spoon into the ice cream carton for another bite.</p><p>"I feel like I've eaten more ice cream with you than I have in my whole life." </p><p>“You’re welcome,” Richie says, and bites his tongue to keep from calling Eddie <em> my love </em> again. The fact that Eddie didn’t even respond to it, not even to insult it, is going to keep Richie up at night. </p><p>“Thank you.” Eddie presses his cold lips to Richie’s and combs his fingers through his hair. “For everything.”</p><p>Richie beams at him. “Of course.”</p><p>Eddie yawns and shovels out another spoonful of ice cream. “I should get to bed...but I think I want to stay up with you a little longer.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Richie asks, opening his mouth for the bite. “And what do you want to do?”</p><p>When they step into Eddie’s backyard, it’s past midnight. Eddie steps out of his boxers and dives into the pool. He swims up to the edge, smiling wide. </p><p>“Are you coming in, <em> my love</em>?”</p><p>-</p><p>When Eddie's ex-wife sends a package and a second envelope to Richie's house, they don’t even open them. </p><p>They take the box to Eddie's garage and destroy it before they even know what's inside. </p><p>Eddie smashing a box with a sledgehammer is now filed in Richie’s mind under: ‘Things I Didn’t Realize Would Turn Me On.’</p><p>Later, as they clean up a mess of delicate white glass, Eddie says: "It’s the china set her mom got us for our wedding. After she found out Myra and I were divorcing, she sent me an email filled with pretty fucking creative homophobic slurs. I wouldn’t be surprised if the letter is a continuation of that."</p><p>Richie suggests reporting Myra for violating the restraining order, but Eddie decides it would be more trouble than what it's worth. "It's the attention she wants," he says, and puts the sealed envelope through the paper shredder. </p><p>While it's super fucking unnerving to watch Eddie deal with this, Richie can confidently say that Eddie seems to be handling it well. He says he’s fine, and Richie has made him promise on more than one occasion that he’s telling the truth. To which Eddie always smiles, and says something in response that tugs on Richie’s heartstrings in the perfect way. </p><p>
  <em> “It’s fucked up, but I’ll be fine. I still have you, don’t I?”  </em>
</p><p>And Richie loses his damn mind every time. </p><p>They’re moving on as they were before, despite Myra’s harassment and the threat of being ‘exposed.’ Eddie has been the featured guest on Richie's show for the past two weeks and Richie didn’t even have to beg him to agree. He’s comfortable in front of the camera with Richie—they've held hands, kissed, and even talked openly about their sex life. (When asked about his first time bottoming, Eddie had described it as: "Getting split in half...but, like in a good way.") They’re ‘unbearably cute and inappropriate’ together, Bev says. Richie agrees that they’re sometimes too obscene, but it feels so fucking good knowing that they can be open—that Eddie <em> wants </em> to be open about whatever this <em> thing </em>is between them.</p><p>Speaking of their <em> thing</em>, Richie has gotten a decent amount of comments asking if Eddie is his <em> boyfriend </em> since the shows aired.</p><p>Richie doesn't hate the idea. In fact, the idea makes him so giddy that he stayed up last night brainstorming a list of grand, romantic gestures to woo Eddie with. Maybe he’ll put himself into more debt so he can take Eddie somewhere nice. Then, he'll drop the <em> b-word </em>, and Eddie will say yes, and they'll have sensual, 'candles-and-rose-petals' sex in an overpriced hotel and live happily ever after.</p><p>But, even the simple act of asking Eddie to be his boyfriend—or confirming if he already is, for that matter— would require Richie to stop being a fucking idiot for at least five minutes. And that's just not possible.</p><p>"I've seen this movie a million times," Eddie says. "And I hate it more every time."</p><p>They're tangled up on the couch, with Richie practically laying on top of Eddie, watching Stand By Me. Richie smiles against Eddie's chest—if he listens closely enough, he can hear Eddie's heartbeat. Eddie has been stroking his hair and his back for twenty minutes straight, lulling him into a relaxed state. If Richie weren’t so invested in the movie, he'd be asleep by now.</p><p>“I love it but whenever I watch it, I remember how fucked up the ending is," Richie says, yawning. "Two of them never talk to Gordie again and then Chris gets stabbed to death off screen? What the fuck is that about? Someone should really fix this, because I feel like it’s a hate crime.” </p><p>Eddie chuckles, scratching his nails at the nape of Richie's neck. “A hate crime, Richie?” </p><p>“Did you not notice how in love Gordie and Chris were? And then Chris just <em> dies? </em> For what reason?" Richie asks, very serious. Eddie doesn't answer, but it's a hypothetical question anyway. He knows exactly fucking why. "Homophobia, that’s why.” </p><p>“That seems like a reach.” </p><p>“Ah, but it isn’t. I’ve thought about this a lot-”</p><p>“I can’t tell,” Eddie says. Richie can hear the smirk in his voice. Asshole.</p><p>“Shh, listen,” Richie tells him, reaching up to blindly put a finger over his lips. “They spend the entire movie comforting and defending each other. Crying together? The way they <em> looked at each other </em>? Gordie was literally about to kill a motherfucker for Chris! When I watched this for the first time, it awakened something in me, I swear to god.” </p><p>Eddie smiles against Richie’s fingertip. "Are you saying this movie made you gay?" </p><p>"This movie made me gay <em> and </em> broke my heart for the first time," Richie confirms. “That part where Gordie types that he’s going to miss Chris forever literally ruined me. I didn’t leave my room for days.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Eddie laughs. </p><p>"Some big studio should remake it, like they do with fucking everything, and maybe make it less homophobic."</p><p>"Why don’t you pitch to someone?” Eddie suggests, still idly playing with Richie’s hair. “You have connections, don’t you?"</p><p>Richie scoffs. “Oh, you mean the other aging comedians and c-list actors without agents? Totally.”</p><p>“Richie, you had a bad year. Your career isn’t over. Also, you’re fucking 35, not 50. So, stop being an idiot.” Eddie kisses the top of Richie’s head. He’s soft when he wants to be, and it always makes Richie <em> feel things</em>. “Now, tell me exactly how you would rewrite this movie when you pitch the remake. I want to hear it.”</p><p>"Well, actually everything is exactly the same, except Chris wouldn't die. Then, he and Gordie would get together and realize they've always loved each other, ever since they were kids."</p><p>Richie tilts his head up and Eddie is grinning at him.</p><p>"That's beautiful, Richie."</p><p>“And maybe they’d reconnect with Verne and Teddy, and they’d all have a drink or something,” Richie adds. “That’s way better than the original ending and no one can tell me any different. How did the writers think they could just disappear two characters and then kill another one? To make a point about adolescent friendship and <em> love </em> being fleeting? Thanks, I hate it.”</p><p>“Um, well, I have bad news, baby,” Eddie says, gently. “In the original story everyone except Gordie dies. Technically the movie is already the better version.”</p><p>“I can’t read, so I’m literally not accepting that as a fact.”</p><p>“I’m sorry. Just forget I ever brought it up.” Eddie laughs, bouncing Richie’s head against his chest. “The part of this movie that gets to me is when Gordie types that he never had friends again like the ones he had when he was twelve. That is so fucking depressing.”  </p><p>“God, I know. Way to make me feel good about my future,” Richie says, shifting in Eddie’s arms. Eddie lets him wiggle for a second, then places a gentle hand on his lower back to still him. “I don’t remember having close friends when I was younger, so I must have watched this and thought ‘oh fuck, it gets worse?’”</p><p>“It is kind of fucked up that you grow up believing things would get easier as you got older. Everything just gets more complicated.” Eddie sighs and squeezes Richie’s hip. “You turn 16 and everything still sucks. Then, you turn 21 and you’re on your own and you think, okay I’m in control now, but you’re not ready for anything. Your anxiety is worse, everything still scares you, and you’re still in the closet. Suddenly you’re 30 and every intrusive thought you have is about dying. I wish someone had told me, ‘Hey, Eddie, hang in there. When you’re 35, things might actually turn around for you. You might actually get the chance to be happy.’” </p><p>Richie turns to look at him. “Are you?” </p><p>Eddie tears his gaze away from the TV to meet Richie’s eyes. “Am I happy?” </p><p>“Yeah, are you happy?” Richie swallows down his sudden nervousness and adds: “With me?”</p><p>“I am,” Eddie says, and a wide smile spreads across his face. “Are <em> you </em> happy?”</p><p>“I am, but if I let myself think about it or talk about it, I'll jinx it. Or, I’ll wake up and I’ll be back on my balcony watching you swim naked, trying to figure out a way to talk to you.” </p><p>Eddie opens his mouth, as if he's going to say something, but leans down to give Richie a kiss instead. He runs his fingers through Richie’s hair, massages his neck, and the sensitive spots behind his ears, until Richie’s eyes flutter closed.</p><p>Richie wakes up with his glasses still on and Eddie’s hand rubbing his back. There’s a cooking show playing on the TV and Eddie is awake, scowling at someone who isn’t using enough garlic. </p><p>“Did I sleep through the whole movie?” Richie asks, sitting up to stretch out his legs. </p><p>“Mhmm,” Eddie hums. “This lady isn’t using enough garlic.”</p><p>Richie stretches his arms over his head. He’s still tired, or just insanely relaxed whenever Eddie touches him. “How would you know? You can’t cook.”</p><p>Eddie swings a pillow at Richie’s head and Richie dodges it. “Hey, fuck you.”</p><p>Richie snatches the pillow and swings it back. “Let’s go to bed.”</p><p>“It’s like 5 PM.”</p><p>"I'll get on my knees and beg if you want me to."</p><p>Without having to beg (though Richie isn't opposed), they go upstairs. Richie undresses down to his boxers and gets into Eddie's bed. Eddie climbs in with him, pulling the covers over them, and slots himself between Richie’s legs. They share languid kisses until they're grinding against each other with no real rhythm or goal.</p><p>All it takes is a few short strokes of Eddie's hand, and Richie is panting. With his lips on Richie’s neck, he brings Richie to the edge and then sends him tumbling over it soon after. </p><p>If Richie gave a shit, he would be embarrassed to come in ten seconds and immediately fall asleep.</p><p>When he wakes up for the second time, it’s dark. Eddie is curled up next to him, fast asleep, grasping Richie's thumb.</p><p>There's a word for the comfort and the calm, overwhelming warmth that envelopes him. For the ease at which he surrenders to his touch. For the way it feels to be in the dark with him, reaching for each other even while they're asleep. </p><p>He's safe.</p><p>-</p><p>Three things contribute to Richie’s decision to buy wine:</p><p>1) Bev put in a good word for him with her agent, and he <em> might </em> have some auditions in the future. (For a TV show, no less.)</p><p>2) Eddie agreed to go on a ‘date’ with him, and Richie wants to impress him with something other than a different flavor of the same beer they've been drinking for the past few months.</p><p>3) Richie only knows how to make pasta. Bev tells him that red wine pairs well with pasta and that he should <em> "definitely fucking not serve beer" </em> because <em> "you're not 25 years old anymore</em> — <em> have some class, dude." </em></p><p>“Does anyone ever call you Richard?” Eddie asks and takes a drink from his third (or fourth) glass of wine. “I think you should put that on your business cards. It sounds professional. I mean, not that you’d need or want to sound more professional as a comedian. Wait, do you <em> have </em> business cards?”</p><p>“No one has ever called me Richard, thank god,” Richie says, through laughter. He’s only on his second glass of wine, pleasantly buzzed. “And no, I don’t have business cards. Why would I need business cards?”</p><p>“For your, um-” Eddie puts his glass down and immediately knocks it over with his arm. “Ah, shit.”</p><p>It’s in this exact moment that Richie remembers that wine has a much higher alcohol content than beer, and that Eddie might be a little more than tipsy.</p><p>The actual dinner portion of their 'date' went well. Eddie complimented Richie's cooking skills and, after some relentless teasing, he even admitted that he’s a bad cook. Then, he saw the mess in Richie’s kitchen and had to chug two glasses of wine to stop himself from cleaning it.</p><p>Now, he's apologizing profusely as Richie uses half a roll of paper towels to soak up spilled wine before it stains the table.</p><p>"I'm sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess."</p><p>"Nervous?” Richie asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “I make you nervous?"</p><p>"A lot. In a good way. I, um-...the date was a good idea." Eddie blushes and pinches Richie's cheek. "You're a sweetie, <em> Richard</em>."</p><p>“Please don’t.” Richie tosses the wet paper towels and returns to the table. "I'd rather you call me Dick."</p><p>“Richard,” Eddie repeats, and bursts into laughter. “That sounds so fucking weird.”</p><p>“<em>Edward</em>," Richie mimics, but can’t help but laugh. "That's either a baby name or an old person's name."</p><p>“Rude.” Eddie rolls his eyes and shuffles into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine. He pours another full glass and takes a drink. "What's next for our <em> date </em>?"</p><p>Richie stops in the middle of the dining room and realizes something. "You know what, I didn't plan past dinner."</p><p>"Hmm…we could <em> dance</em>.” Eddie grins and takes another drink, already halfway done with the new glass. “That’s what people do on dates, right?”</p><p>"Are you a good dancer?"</p><p>"I took one dance class before my wedding,” Eddie says. “So, no. Are you?"</p><p>"Absolutely fucking not, but I’ll dance with you any day." Richie connects his phone to the bluetooth speaker, turns on the cheesiest love song playlist he can find, and holds out his hand for Eddie to take. "May I have this dance, my love?”</p><p>Eddie takes Richie's hand, laughing when Richie spins him like a ballroom dancer. "I like it a lot when you call me that. Have I told you that?"</p><p>"You have." Richie brings a hand to the small of Eddie's back and urges him closer. "About 100 times."</p><p>"I might say it 100 more times," Eddie says, swaying off beat.</p><p>Richie leads him into the living room, where they do their best impression of a waltz. "I'll allow it.”</p><p>They move clumsily, giggling, spinning circles around the couch and coffee table, looking at each other more than their surroundings. More kissing and holding each other than dancing. </p><p>Eddie trips over his own feet, leaning against Richie for support. “It’s the wine. Makes me all sleepy.”</p><p>“Drunk, you mean?” </p><p>“Sleepy,” Eddie insists, draping his arms around Richie’s neck. He stands on his toes to kiss Richie’s forehead. "Loopy, and a little giggly."</p><p>“Very cute.” Richie catches his lips in a kiss. “But, it might be time for you to go to bed.”</p><p>Eddie hums into Richie’s shoulder, and proceeds to lean all of his weight against him. “I don’t want to go to bed yet.”</p><p>Richie stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch, bringing Eddie with him. Eddie drops into his lap, and places his hands on either side of Richie’s face. He looks at Richie in that intense, drawn out way that he’s too fucking good at.</p><p>"I need to tell you something." </p><p>"What is it? Do I have onion breath?" </p><p>Eddie blinks and says: "I...need to throw up, I think."</p><p>It’s a miracle that Eddie makes it to the bathroom, because the second his knees hit the tile, he’s retching into the toilet. </p><p>“What a date,” he says, his head still in the toilet bowl. It’s disgusting, but Richie would be a hypocrite to judge him. </p><p>Richie pats his back, hoping it soothes him at least a little. “Do you want some ginger ale? I have ginger ale.”</p><p>Eddie chuckles and gives him a shaky thumbs up. </p><p>When Richie returns with a glass of ginger ale and a stick of gum, Eddie is lying flat on his back with his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. </p><p>“Cold floor feels good.” He accepts the ginger ale, tilts his head up about an inch, tips the glass towards his lips, and tries to take a drink. Sputtering and coughing, he says, “Oops.”</p><p>Richie laughs at him, handing over the gum. "Jesus, babe, at least sit up."</p><p>"I'm down here, now I gotta stay. Dizzy.” Eddie puts the gum in his mouth, then realizes he never took the wrapper off. He pulls the wet wrapper out of his mouth and laughs at himself. “Oops again.”</p><p>Richie takes the glass out of his hand and sets it aside. "I didn't realize you were such a lightweight."</p><p>"Baby, I'm like 165 pounds,” Eddie mumbles. “Also, <em> what the fuck. </em> I had like four glasses of wine. That's a lot. Leave me alone."</p><p>Richie laughs and sits down on the floor near his head, brushing the hair off of his forehead. “I’ll never leave you alone.”</p><p>"Also, I'm nervous because...I want to tell you something." Eddie reaches for Richie's hand and holds it tight. He looks at him, opens his mouth, and… doesn’t say anything.</p><p>Suddenly, Richie is just about ready to jump out of his skin. "Can I tell you my thing first? I have a thing, by the way. Well, it's more of a question but-... What are we doing? Is this still just a fuck-buddy thing? Or is it...more?" </p><p>“<em>Richie</em>,” Eddie says, with a soft chuckle. "If someone would have told me last year that I'd go from being a germaphobe to lying on a questionable bathroom floor in a semi stranger's house... I would have called them a fucking liar, among other things." </p><p>At this point, Richie’s face hurts from smiling all night. "What a journey."</p><p>"But, you know... things change after you attempt suicide, commit to therapy, and decide to start with a clean slate. I left a whole life behind, not just a manipulative, abusive ex. It was everything else too. Being afraid and paranoid for no fucking reason... always lying to myself about how in control I was." Eddie pauses, takes a long, slow breath, and looks at the ceiling. "After the divorce was finalized, things changed really fast. I never thought things would change…I thought I would be fucked up forever. I never thought I would feel… <em> safe</em>. With myself, or another person. It's fucking weird starting over when you're almost 40, but...I'm glad it's with you. You make me feel safe." </p><p>"Safe,” Richie repeats, going so warm that he could probably melt. <em> Safe</em>.</p><p>"Yeah. To just exist as myself. No bullshit." Eddie moves to lay his head on Richie's lap. "I'm 99 percent sure I'm falling in love with you."</p><p>Richie should say something profound, something that wraps up his feelings for Eddie in a neat ribbon. But, his brain just doesn't work like that. Right now it's as if every racing thought his head is trying to work its way out of his mouth. "Is the remaining one percent because I'm ugly or because I talk too much? Or is it my feet? I know they stink because my medicine fucks with my body chemistry. I can change the dosage, but-" </p><p>"If I say I'm 100 percent falling in love with you, will you shut up?" Eddie asks, through a yawn.</p><p>Richie is buzzing. If he were any more excited, he’d literally burst into flames.</p><p>"Definitely not." </p><p>"Fair enough," Eddie mutters, smiling into Richie’s thigh. "Well, in any case, I'm 100 percent falling in love with you. I have been...for a while. That's what I wanted to tell you." </p><p>Richie has spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to pick the perfect words to explain the way he feels for Eddie, but all he comes up with now is: "Ditto." </p><p>Eddie lifts his head, frowning. "<em>Ditto</em>? That’s your-" </p><p>Richie cradles Eddie's head in his hands and kisses him hard—teeth clashing, lip biting, accidental gum swapping, and all— and hopes it’s enough to get his point across. His point being that he's fucking ass over tits in love. There’s a happy, slightly dazed look in Eddie's eyes when he pulls away. Richie could look at him forever. His beautiful, sleepy brown eyes. His wine-stained mouth, his dimples so fucking deep that Richie wants to <em> live </em>in them. His quiet, understated smile. And Eddie just stares back, because he knows without Richie having to say it.</p><p>“Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” he blurts out. <em> Loved</em>, he thinks. He can't get the word out but it's there, tangled up in the rest of his feelings. It's been there. "And I feel like we're supposed to be here." </p><p>Eddie chuckles and yawns again, returning to his reclined position on Richie's dirty bathroom floor. “Are you saying this is fate?” </p><p>“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.” </p><p>"I don't think it's stupid." Eddie rolls over onto his side so he can look at Richie fully. "I just don't know if I believe in it? I understand the strong 'meant to be' kind of feeling...but, fate? I don't know. Maybe it's the same thing...maybe I'm just being stupid."</p><p>"I feel that for you," Richie says. "Like, an insane amount."</p><p>Within seconds, tears spring to Eddie's eyes. "Aww, Richie...baby, I love you so much."</p><p>Richie could fucking cry. He actually might if Eddie keeps looking at him like he's responsible for all the stars in the sky. </p><p>Instead, he wipes Eddie's tears, lies down next to him, and plucks the gum from where it's hanging out of his mouth. "You can't fall asleep with this."</p><p>"That was gross," Eddie mumbles. "But thank you."</p><p>"We’re pretty gross, babe."</p><p>Eddie kisses him, barely a brush of their lips. "Do you actually believe in fate...like, really?"</p><p>"I, um…” Richie takes a second to gather his thoughts. It’s hard when Eddie is staring at him. “I always hear stories about people who grew up in the same town and went to the same school and even had some of the same friends, but never knew it. And years later, by chance, they meet and get together. I think that's fate." </p><p>"That would be... <em> weird</em>." Eddie yawns for the third time and finally closes his eyes. "How could you not remember someone? I'd definitely remember if I met you before." </p><p>"That's what I said when we first talked, when you said I looked familiar,” Richie says. His heart is racing,  his palms are sweating, his stomach is tying itself in knots. “You said it felt like we had met before." </p><p>"Before we met...I think I had a dream about us…," Eddie starts, his voice slurred with sleep. "We were walking somewhere, lost... I was scared of something, I don't remember what it was. And you were scared too but you held my hand anyway…I used to hate holding hands...but, god, the way you smiled at me." </p><p>Richie is dizzy, floating. This, right now, feels like a dream. "What happened after that?" </p><p>"I don’t remember... we were younger, I think." </p><p>Richie watches Eddie drift into a deep sleep, drunk on the warmth of him. He closes his eyes and brings a hand to Eddie’s cheek, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. </p><p>There’s a way to explain the way they fit next to each other. The way they just <em> click. </em>The way he leans into Richie's touch. The way Eddie knows exactly how to touch him. How they hold each other, how they look at each other, how they never hesitate. The all-encompassing certainty, relief, and incredible fucking joy.</p><p>"I love you," he whispers. "I feel like I've always loved you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what a wild ride, am I right?<br/><s>I don't have a Twitter or Tumblr, so I guess ya'll can just comment here?</s><br/>I'm on Twitter now as curiousair<br/><br/>ANYWAY, here are some songs:<br/>Unchained Melody- The Righteous Brothers*<br/>Crazy for You- Madonna<br/>A Sunday Kind of Love- Etta James<br/>Always Be My Baby- Mariah Carey<br/>Friday, I'm In Love- The Cure<br/>Fooled Around and Fell in Love- Elvin Bishop</p></blockquote></div></div>
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